The dove burnt in its whiteness.
The doe dead in the cold grass.
The flower dead, still unnamed,
and the delicate wolf of dark innocence.
The fish's eye dead in the hard wave.
The water dead, pestered by the day.
The pearl dead in its luxurious shade.
The olive and the pure apple fallen.
From the sugar of wings and white stones
the blinded stone-paved roads leave
for the invasion of lecherous ivy.
Cemetery of angelic deserts:
save among your sleeping settlers
also a site for my dead eyes.
Sara de Ibáñez (1909 - 1971) Uruguay
Translated by Johannes Beilharz
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please keep your comments relevant and free from abusive language. Thank you. Note that comments are moderated so it may be a day or two before your comment is posted - irrelevant or abusive comments will not be published.