emmajane16.1775
I trust the poem
To the poem I entrust the pain of losing you.
I have to wash my eyes from your blue ones,
headlights that prolonged my shipwreck.
I have to take my undone life in your hands,
wisps of mist
that the wind between its ephemeral wings disperses.
Return the night to me, mute and eternal,
of the private dialogue of dreaming of you,
indifferent to a day
that has to find us alien and distant.
by Salvador Novo
Cherishville spring www.flickr.com/groups/4218199@N23/, Photos (231, 80, 24) - Moderado
I trust the poem
To the poem I entrust the pain of losing you.
I have to wash my eyes from your blue ones,
headlights that prolonged my shipwreck.
I have to take my undone life in your hands,
wisps of mist
that the wind between its ephemeral wings disperses.
Return the night to me, mute and eternal,
of the private dialogue of dreaming of you,
indifferent to a day
that has to find us alien and distant.
by Salvador Novo
Cherishville spring www.flickr.com/groups/4218199@N23/, Photos (231, 80, 24) - Moderado