Poem
María Mercedes Carranza
If you want love
let it follow its whims
I have forgotten all the names,the names of my dead and of my sons.
I don’t recognize the odours of my house
nor the sound of the key turning in the door.
I do not remember the timbre of my most cherished voices
nor do I see the things my eyes look at.
Words sound without me understanding them,
I am a stranger on these intimate streets
and there is no happiness or unhappiness that can wound me.
I have scratched out my history of forty years.
I love you.
© Translation: 2004, Nicolás Suescún
Si quieres amor
que siga sus antojos
Si quieres amor
que siga sus antojos
He olvidado los nombres de todos,los nombres de todos mis muertos y los de mis hijos.
No reconozco los olores de mi casa
ni el sonido de la llave que gira en la puerta.
No recuerdo el metal de las voces más queridas
ni veo las cosas que mis ojos miran.
Las palabras suenan sin que yo comprenda,
soy extranjera por estas calles íntimas
y no hay dicha ni desdicha que me hieran
He borrado mi historia de 40 años.
Te amo.
From: Amor y desamor y otros poemas
Publisher: Editorial Norma, Bogotá
Publisher: Editorial Norma, Bogotá
Poems
Poems of María Mercedes Carranza
Close
If you want love
let it follow its whims
I have forgotten all the names,the names of my dead and of my sons.
I don’t recognize the odours of my house
nor the sound of the key turning in the door.
I do not remember the timbre of my most cherished voices
nor do I see the things my eyes look at.
Words sound without me understanding them,
I am a stranger on these intimate streets
and there is no happiness or unhappiness that can wound me.
I have scratched out my history of forty years.
I love you.
© 2004, Nicolás Suescún
From: Amor y desamor y otros poemas
From: Amor y desamor y otros poemas
If you want love
let it follow its whims
I have forgotten all the names,the names of my dead and of my sons.
I don’t recognize the odours of my house
nor the sound of the key turning in the door.
I do not remember the timbre of my most cherished voices
nor do I see the things my eyes look at.
Words sound without me understanding them,
I am a stranger on these intimate streets
and there is no happiness or unhappiness that can wound me.
I have scratched out my history of forty years.
I love you.
© 2004, Nicolás Suescún
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