Poem
Carmen García
There is an island in the middle of the sea
There is an island in the middle of the sea. In the morning, you can hear the birds, their crossfire. The rocks glisten when the water retreats from nowhere. Sometimes hawthorn grows, and the small deer hurt their feet crossing the clearings. Someone is playing drill. He builds boats in case he must abandon the island someday. He builds a house in case a girl arrives someday. Someone plays drill. He walks barefoot to go unnoticed, and yet, no one inhabits the island. A man inhabits the island, and in his loneliness, he converses with the wind. It is his destiny to respect the time of day. In case someone, out there, was watching. He observes the moss growing between the rocks and measures time this way. One year, he tells himself, two. And everything remains the same.
© Translation: 2015, Sarita Palma
Hay una isla en la mitad del mar
Hay una isla en la mitad del mar
Hay una isla en la mitad del mar. Por las mañanas se escuchan las bandadas de pájaros, los fuegos cruzados. Las rocas brillan cuando el agua se retira de ninguna parte. A veces crecen espinos y los pequeños ciervos hieren sus pies al atravesar los descampados. Alguien juega al simulacro. Construye embarcaciones por si algún día debe abandonar la isla. Construye una casa por si algún día llega alguna muchacha. Alguien juega al simulacro. Camina descalzo para que nadie lo escuche y sin embargo nadie en la isla habita. Un hombre habita la isla y en su soledad se entiende con el viento. Es su destino responder a las horas del día. Por si alguien, más allá, estuviera mirando. Mira crecer el musgo entremedio de la roca, así da cuenta del paso del tiempo. Un año, se dice, dos. Y todo sigue igual.
© 2015, Carmen García
Poems
Poems of Carmen García
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There is an island in the middle of the sea
There is an island in the middle of the sea. In the morning, you can hear the birds, their crossfire. The rocks glisten when the water retreats from nowhere. Sometimes hawthorn grows, and the small deer hurt their feet crossing the clearings. Someone is playing drill. He builds boats in case he must abandon the island someday. He builds a house in case a girl arrives someday. Someone plays drill. He walks barefoot to go unnoticed, and yet, no one inhabits the island. A man inhabits the island, and in his loneliness, he converses with the wind. It is his destiny to respect the time of day. In case someone, out there, was watching. He observes the moss growing between the rocks and measures time this way. One year, he tells himself, two. And everything remains the same.
© 2015, Sarita Palma
There is an island in the middle of the sea
There is an island in the middle of the sea. In the morning, you can hear the birds, their crossfire. The rocks glisten when the water retreats from nowhere. Sometimes hawthorn grows, and the small deer hurt their feet crossing the clearings. Someone is playing drill. He builds boats in case he must abandon the island someday. He builds a house in case a girl arrives someday. Someone plays drill. He walks barefoot to go unnoticed, and yet, no one inhabits the island. A man inhabits the island, and in his loneliness, he converses with the wind. It is his destiny to respect the time of day. In case someone, out there, was watching. He observes the moss growing between the rocks and measures time this way. One year, he tells himself, two. And everything remains the same.
© 2015, Sarita Palma
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