today let alone the public bloglector ... This poem by Jaime Sabines ... With love to my Ikebanna ... My Dandelion ...
loves.
The lovers say nothing.
Love is the finest silent,
the most shaky, the more unbearable.
The lovers are looking
The lovers are those who leave,
ones who change, who forget.
Their hearts tell them that they will never find
not find, seek.
The lovers wander around like crazy
because they are lonely, lonely, lonely,
surrendering, giving themselves all the time,
crying because they do not save love.
They worry about love. The lovers
daily living can not do more, do not know.
They're going away,
always somewhere.
hope,
expect nothing but hope.
know that they will never find.
Love is the perpetual deferment, always
the next step, the other the other.
The lovers are the insatiable, the
than ever - that good! - Have to be alone.
The lovers are the serpent in the story.
have snakes instead of arms.
veins necks swell like snakes too
suffocating them.
The lovers can not sleep
sleep because if they are eaten by worms.
's dark eyes opened
and falls into them with terror.
find scorpions under the sheet
and your bed It floats on a lake.
The lovers are crazy, just crazy,
no God and no devil.
The lovers leave their
caves trembling, starving,
chasing phantoms.
They laugh at people who know everything,
of which love forever, truly,
those who believe in love
as inexhaustible lamp.
The lovers play at picking up water,
tattooing smoke, at staying.
play the long sad game of love.
Nobody has to resign.
say that nobody has to resign.
The lovers are ashamed to reach any agreement.
Empty, but empty from one rib to another,
death ferments them behind the eyes,
and they go, they weep toward morning
in the trains and roosters wake into sorrow.
sometimes I get a scent of newborn earth,
women who sleep with their hand on their sex,
pleased,
to gentle streams, and kitchens.
Lovers start singing between their lips a song
not learned
and go crying,
beautiful life.
Pedagogical
The lovers say nothing.
Love is the finest silent,
the most shaky, the more unbearable.
The lovers are looking
The lovers are those who leave,
ones who change, who forget.
Their hearts tell them that they will never find
not find, seek.
The lovers wander around like crazy
because they are lonely, lonely, lonely,
surrendering, giving themselves all the time,
crying because they do not save love.
They worry about love. The lovers
daily living can not do more, do not know.
They're going away,
always somewhere.
hope,
expect nothing but hope.
know that they will never find.
Love is the perpetual deferment, always
the next step, the other the other.
The lovers are the insatiable, the
than ever - that good! - Have to be alone.
The lovers are the serpent in the story.
have snakes instead of arms.
veins necks swell like snakes too
suffocating them.
The lovers can not sleep
sleep because if they are eaten by worms.
's dark eyes opened
and falls into them with terror.
find scorpions under the sheet
and your bed It floats on a lake.
The lovers are crazy, just crazy,
no God and no devil.
The lovers leave their
caves trembling, starving,
chasing phantoms.
They laugh at people who know everything,
of which love forever, truly,
those who believe in love
as inexhaustible lamp.
The lovers play at picking up water,
tattooing smoke, at staying.
play the long sad game of love.
Nobody has to resign.
say that nobody has to resign.
The lovers are ashamed to reach any agreement.
Empty, but empty from one rib to another,
death ferments them behind the eyes,
and they go, they weep toward morning
in the trains and roosters wake into sorrow.
sometimes I get a scent of newborn earth,
women who sleep with their hand on their sex,
pleased,
to gentle streams, and kitchens.
Lovers start singing between their lips a song
not learned
and go crying,
beautiful life.
Pedagogical
From the Underground ...
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