Poem
Giovanny Gómez
TIMES
I speak about the days and the nightsI speak about the tremulation of the streets
I speak about the sun that forswears in its daggers
I speak about a sore on my back
where the weight of the world hurts
about the only thing the window panes don’t let you see
about ill will and its transparency in the blood
I speak about a sleeping animal
and the waltz beat of butterflies in my basin
I speak about not being able to ignore
the dawns with their dead
I speak about my sweaty hands
I speak about the walls where love hides itself
I speak about the god that sings on those shores
where the waves break
© Translation: 2007, Nicolás Suescún
TIEMPOS
TIEMPOS
Hablo de los días y las nochesdel trepidar de calles
del sol que perjura en sus navajas
Hablo de una llaga en mi espalda
donde el peso del mundo duele
de lo único que no dejan ver los cristales
del rencor y su transparencia en la sangre
Hablo de un animal dormido
y compases de vals con mariposas en mi alberca
Hablo de no poder ignorar
las auroras con sus muertos
de mis manos sudorosas
de las paredes donde se oculta el amor
del dios que canta en esas orillas
donde se rompen las olas
© 2006, Giovanny Gómez
From: Casa de humo
From: Casa de humo
Poems
Poems of Giovanny Gómez
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TIMES
I speak about the days and the nightsI speak about the tremulation of the streets
I speak about the sun that forswears in its daggers
I speak about a sore on my back
where the weight of the world hurts
about the only thing the window panes don’t let you see
about ill will and its transparency in the blood
I speak about a sleeping animal
and the waltz beat of butterflies in my basin
I speak about not being able to ignore
the dawns with their dead
I speak about my sweaty hands
I speak about the walls where love hides itself
I speak about the god that sings on those shores
where the waves break
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
From: Casa de humo
From: Casa de humo
TIMES
I speak about the days and the nightsI speak about the tremulation of the streets
I speak about the sun that forswears in its daggers
I speak about a sore on my back
where the weight of the world hurts
about the only thing the window panes don’t let you see
about ill will and its transparency in the blood
I speak about a sleeping animal
and the waltz beat of butterflies in my basin
I speak about not being able to ignore
the dawns with their dead
I speak about my sweaty hands
I speak about the walls where love hides itself
I speak about the god that sings on those shores
where the waves break
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
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