Poem
Álvaro Marín
LOVE POEM
Dark wings brush us, last nighta big spot of blood fell onto the earth
and the light of the bombs
lit up our sleeping bodies.
After the war we’ll erect the house
and the spilt blood
will sweep away the storm’s gray birds.
History is a country of seasons,
after the dark winter
we’ll paint the house; when the machines
of the shadow hide in the red sky,
we’ll bury our dead.
We’ll paint the house,
and oblivion will fill the cracks,
at night friends will return
to light the bonfire of their voices;
your voice will be a lamp above the ruins
and your hands will wash the blood of the earth.
© Translation: 2007, Nicolás Suescún
POEMA DE AMOR
POEMA DE AMOR
Oscuras alas nos rozan, anochecayó un lamparón de sangre sobre la tierra
y la luz de las bombas
iluminó nuestros cuerpos dormidos.
Después de la guerra levantaremos la casa
y la sangre derramada
arrastrará los pájaros grises de la tormenta.
La historia es un país de estaciones,
después del oscuro invierno
pintaremos la casa; cuando en el cielo rojo
se oculten las máquinas de la sombra
enterraremos a nuestros muertos.
Pintaremos la casa,
y el olvido resanará las grietas,
en la noche volverán los amigos
a encender la hoguera de sus voces;
tu voz será una lámpara sobre las ruinas
y tus manos lavarán la sangre de la tierra.
© 2007, Álvaro Marín
From: Cuaderno del extrañamiento
Publisher: First published in PIW,
From: Cuaderno del extrañamiento
Publisher: First published in PIW,
Poems
Poems of Álvaro Marín
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LOVE POEM
Dark wings brush us, last nighta big spot of blood fell onto the earth
and the light of the bombs
lit up our sleeping bodies.
After the war we’ll erect the house
and the spilt blood
will sweep away the storm’s gray birds.
History is a country of seasons,
after the dark winter
we’ll paint the house; when the machines
of the shadow hide in the red sky,
we’ll bury our dead.
We’ll paint the house,
and oblivion will fill the cracks,
at night friends will return
to light the bonfire of their voices;
your voice will be a lamp above the ruins
and your hands will wash the blood of the earth.
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
From: Cuaderno del extrañamiento
From: Cuaderno del extrañamiento
LOVE POEM
Dark wings brush us, last nighta big spot of blood fell onto the earth
and the light of the bombs
lit up our sleeping bodies.
After the war we’ll erect the house
and the spilt blood
will sweep away the storm’s gray birds.
History is a country of seasons,
after the dark winter
we’ll paint the house; when the machines
of the shadow hide in the red sky,
we’ll bury our dead.
We’ll paint the house,
and oblivion will fill the cracks,
at night friends will return
to light the bonfire of their voices;
your voice will be a lamp above the ruins
and your hands will wash the blood of the earth.
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
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