And today you came to me with the same old question again, after a year or so of the first fall, and I cannot do anymore than tell you to follow your path but to lead your way as I told you that day. Yes, I know it is difficult and painful remember, unfathomable though sublime. I told you it is irrational, atavistic, illogical and primitive but today you came to me with the same old question again. I can see my dear that at least during this last year in the deepness of your suffering you can confess that you have lived. There are many who think they live but they pass by you like transparent bodies, like unsustainable ghosts. They have the laugh of the hyena on their faces and you look at them with despise, because in their laugh you see their death and today you feel dead. Today you do not smile, today you cry, and your chest is compressed, and your stomach squeezed, and your legs tremble and your head spins. However you are not dead my friend, you suffer because you wanted to live a passion and passion is not just joy, passion is suffering but above all passion is life. You chose not to be dead that day, you wanted to live, to experience, to give and you knew the risk. And I admire those who want to live up to losing their life by experiencing life.
Today your salty tears flow on your rosy cheeks with sorrow, but when this night passes away your pretty eyes will shine again clear like the mighty sky, for the one who loves life can only smile.
T’ha passat al anglés???
Oh vaja!
This cahnge is such a new beggining or, maybe, you are afraid of sparking openly about love in your own language?
“speaking”, not “sparking”!! I’m zorry!
No m’he passat a l’anglès. Va sortir així perquè només podia sortir així
bones! al llegir el text no se pq m’ha vingut al cap un altre de Mario Benedetti, amb el teu permís aquí te’l deixo:
A TIENTAS
Se retrocede con seguridad
pero se avanza a tientas
uno adelanta manos como un ciego
ciego imprudente por añadidura
pero lo absurdo es que no es ciego
y distingue el relámpago la lluvia
los rostros insepultos la ceniza
la sonrisa del necio las afrentas
un barrunto de pena en el espejo
la baranda oxidada con sus pájaros
la opaca incertidumbre de los otros
enfrentada a la propia incertidumbre
se avanza a tientas / lentamente
por lo común a contramano
de los convictos y confesos
en búsqueda tal vez
de amores residuales
que sirvan de consuelo y recompensa
o iluminen un pozo de nostalgias
se avanza a tientas / vacilante
no importan la distancia ni el horario
ni que el futuro sea una vislumbre
o una pasión deshabitada
a tientas hasta que una noche
se queda uno sin cómplices ni tacto
y a ciegas otra vez y para siempre
se introduce en un túnel o destino
que no se sabe dónde acaba.
Deambulant,
Sí, en el fons del text i de l’experiència hi ha la inseguretat del camí, l’efímer del present i l’inconegut del proper pas, però el bo d’això és que darrera de cada porta hi ha una sorpresa nova, un nou terreny de joc, per això cal seguir el propi camí, una nova realitat per desenvolupar, i per això cal guiar els propis passos en el que sigui possible, fins que avançant en el desconegut se’ns tanqui de sobte la porta o algú ens llenci al carrer, però “a tientas”, a les palpentes, acabarem trobant un altre pom de porta que obrirà un nou i de nou desconegut camí per tornar a començar a jugar.
Gràcies per la poesia, m’ha agradat molt.
As I read again this post, I smile. Gracias!