"Pero más abominable aún que los imperialistas son los hombres de las oligarquías nacionales que se entregan vendiendo y a veces regalando por monedas o por sonrisas la felicidad de sus pueblos". Eva Perón
miércoles, 5 de agosto de 2009
Habitación blanca
White Room
In the white room with black curtains near the station. Blackroof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings. Silver horses ran down moonbeams in your dark eyes. Dawnlight smiles on you leaving, my contentment.
I'll wait in this place where the sun never shines;
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.
You said no strings could secure you at the station.
Platform ticket, restless diesels, goodbye windows.
I walked into such a sad time at the station.
As I walked out, felt my own need just beginning.
I'll wait in the queue when the trains come back;
Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves.
At the party she was kindness in the hard crowd.
Consolation for the old wound now forgotten.
Yellow tigers crouched in jungles in her dark eyes.
She's just dressing, goodbye windows, tired starlings.
I'll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd;
Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves.
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