Monday, 19 July 2010

roberto sosa


To Eduardo Bähr and Víctor Meza

Life moves on and drops its rotten apple.

Time turns and all creation changes. Beasts

will turn to foam and jails to kindergartens.

Gold, its infinity, or the hate of man for man

will be by the end of this affair

mere paper birds.

Meanwhile our great day doesn’t dawn.

We live like those

whose hands are in the fire

who know Time

as a noose around the neck.

Trees burst into tears for fellow trees.

I'’m moving on. Before long

so will you.

trans by JoAnne Engelbert

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