after reading ‘Your bicycle’ by Joe Carrick-Varty
Cando penso á bicicleta cuberta pola herba e o musgo
sinto unha magoa mesta escorregarme pola alma abaixo
lembro a derradeira vez que fora en ela polo pan
no movemento a rua enchíase con estertores
de óxido e rodamentos gastados
Uns meses despóis estorbaba no garaxe
mudou ao descanso eterno atrás do galpón da leña
Enrédaseme o pensamento buscando a razón desta tristura das derradeiras veces
Este sentimento parece ter algo a ver coas incertezas das fronteiras da vida
Preciso sair camiñar á beira das papoulas
Que o sol morno de maio derreta este pesadume invasor
E a cada paso quede estrado no camiño
Deixando espazo para a entrada da luz
The bike
When I think of the bike covered in grass and moss
I feel a thick sorrow slipping down my soul
I remember the last time I rode it for buying bread
in the movement the street was filled with death rattles
of rust and worn bearings
A few months later it was getting in the way in the garage
so it was moved to eternal rest behind the woodshed
My thoughts are tangled, looking for the reason for this sadness of the last times
this feeling seems to have something to do with the uncertainties of life's borders
I need to go for a walk by the poppies
may the warm sun of May melt away this encroaching heaviness
and at every step it pours in the path
leaving space for light to enter
abel abilheira 