This love, you cannot ever know its depths.
You sleep in me oblivious of all.
I hide you, fear penetrates my soul,
a weeping voice of steel that cuts and stabs.
Reality, unsettled flesh, wide gaps
in wounded skies, black pain beyond control,
and turbid words that bite your wings, that fall
and drag me in the dark to open traps.
Into my garden leaps a cruel crowd
to glimpse your body and my nagging pain
that rides green-mane horses, fierce and loud.
But in your sleep, my love, you may remain
forever, you may sleep, but hear out
the violins that spill my blood in vain!
Beloved Sleeps in the Breast of the Poet F. G. Lorca - translati
© Copyright: Борис Старосельский, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103020400044
Свидетельство о публикации №103020400044
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