Aquí estaba eu
nun banal día de semana
a agardar pola neve
ao carón das hortensias
que como pista de despegue
usa decote a miña alma
para o inicio gozoso
das suas viaxes
alén dos carballos
cedo veu o solpor
dezaseis cincuenta e nove
e a rua seguía mollada
escura
acendéronse as farolas
pero aquí non hai signos
da branca esperanza
subo ao cuarto darriba
axexo o fondo da rúa
tampouco alí se ve
xa me pesan as pálpebras
parece que o norte de Gales
acaparouna toda
vaise outro día
frío de febreiro
no que esperou a esperanza
Hope on hold
Here I was
on a banal weekday
waiting for the snow
beside the hydrangeas
that my soul often uses
as a runway for the joyful beginning
of its journeys
beyond the oaks
The sunset came early
sixteen fifty-nine
and the street was still wet dark
the lampposts were on
but here there are no signs
of white hope
I go upstairs
I look down the street
can't see it there either
my eyelids are already heavy
it seems that North Wales
has taken it all
another cold February day
when hope just waited
abel abilheira 