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￭ The Angel in the Window
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2016-12-14 | |
Where did the birds singing my joy leave,
who stole the pleasure of the blossomed trees,
the short summer rains with their fresh air,
after which the eyes get flooded with green?
The purple of the blooded sun pours
rowing the time on glass horizons.
I arrived at the shores of a tumultuous sea
with waves of doubt and infinity,
I was born in another language
that I’d forgotten and begin to discover.
Someone puts land and country love in my hands
that the light comes out of its bitter skin,
the roots of an undead nation gets inside me,
that words bloom on my salt lips.
The evening stars keep getting born in the acquired universe.
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