I think of your hands as gills inside the sea
your hands that breathe sounds
all things I see are islands in movement
and you appear, new-founded country,
stripped naked of all leaves,
rising from the land of shifting obsessions
to the multi-coloured pulse
with which the tendons are spurred
O what gills that do not breathe, your hands
that drive the river into wildness
and carve out the geography of the world
“the world rests entirely on your eyes”
Paul Éluard
Luís Carlos Patraquim (born 1953) Mozambique
Translated by John Mitras
Source: Luís Carlos Patraquim: Ten Poems, John Mitras, Stained Glass, 2011
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