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Painted, not void:
my house is painted
with the vast colour
of tragedy and passion.

It will return from depths
of tears where it was carried
with its empty table,
with is ruined bed.

Kisses will flower
over the pillows.

And wrapped around bodies
the sheet will create
its immense tangle
perfumed, nocturnal.

Hatred will die down
beyond the window.

The talons will be gentle.

Grant me this hope.


Miguel Hernández
Translation by A. S. Kline

subir   poema aleatorio   El hombre acecha (1938-1939)   siguiente / next   anterior / previous
audio Canción: Joan Manuel Serrat
Canción: Francisco Curto Canción: Francisco Curto
español Original version