Poem
Meira Delmar
PROMISE
Some blue and flowered morningwe shall sweetly go, hand in hand
to listen to the stories the brook whispers
before the amazement of the bare stones . . .
We shall say, love, just one word:
our eyes will speak in their language of magic,
and the curious breeze will arrive quite still
without breaking the spell of the enchanted tour . . .
Afterwards . . . like a bunch of beautiful new grapes
cut from the grapevine by inexpert hands-
I will leave in your mouth with some fear
the ignored flavor of my first kisses . . .
© Translation: 2007, Nicolás Suescún
PROMESA
PROMESA
En alguna mañana azul y florecidairemos dulcemente, con las manos unidas
a escuchar las historias que el arroyo murmura
ante el fácil asombro de las piedras desnudas . . .
No diremos, amado, una sola palabra:
hablarán nuestros ojos su lenguaje de magia,
y la brisa curiosa llegará muy callada
sin romper el embrujo de la hora encantada…
Después . . . como un racimo de hermosas uvas nueva
– tronchadas de la vid por manos tempraneras –
yo dejaré en tu boca con un poco de miedo,
el sabor ignorado de mis besos primeros . . .
From: Meira Delmar - Poesía y prosa
Publisher: Ediciones Uninorte, Barranquilla
Publisher: Ediciones Uninorte, Barranquilla
Poems
Poems of Meira Delmar
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PROMISE
Some blue and flowered morningwe shall sweetly go, hand in hand
to listen to the stories the brook whispers
before the amazement of the bare stones . . .
We shall say, love, just one word:
our eyes will speak in their language of magic,
and the curious breeze will arrive quite still
without breaking the spell of the enchanted tour . . .
Afterwards . . . like a bunch of beautiful new grapes
cut from the grapevine by inexpert hands-
I will leave in your mouth with some fear
the ignored flavor of my first kisses . . .
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
From: Meira Delmar - Poesía y prosa
From: Meira Delmar - Poesía y prosa
PROMISE
Some blue and flowered morningwe shall sweetly go, hand in hand
to listen to the stories the brook whispers
before the amazement of the bare stones . . .
We shall say, love, just one word:
our eyes will speak in their language of magic,
and the curious breeze will arrive quite still
without breaking the spell of the enchanted tour . . .
Afterwards . . . like a bunch of beautiful new grapes
cut from the grapevine by inexpert hands-
I will leave in your mouth with some fear
the ignored flavor of my first kisses . . .
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
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