Entre os restos de pintura esconchada
e os anacos da louza escachada
atopamos por fin a espiña
que nos atravesara todos estes meses
os portazos e os berros afástanse
pesadelos febrís minguantes
só denso o bochorno se queda
e a mirada cambiada dos veciños
No cimeterio onde soterramos
os sete mil nomes da culpa
prégolle ao universo
ou a quen tiver as competencias
que as feridas non sexan fondas
e que cando o sangue comece a callar
a fin da guerra nos tope abrazados
Latin love
Among the remains of chipped paint
and the pieces of broken crockery
we finally found the thorn
that had pricked us all these months
the slamming doors and the screams go away
waning feverish nightmares
only the dense embarrassment remains
and the changed gaze of the neighbours
In the cemetery where we buried
the seven thousand names of guilt
I pray to the universe
or to whoever having the powers
for our wounds to be superficial
and, when the blood begins to curdle,
for the war's end to finds us embraced
Quel souffle… je reste ébahie de la beauté de vos mots… Merci 💝
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Merci, j’apprecie vos mots, ils sont très encourageants!
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