(English translation of my "Poema al viejo café".Translation is mine,too)
A winter evening.
Meanwhile it's raining,the smoke writes the last stroke of a sole word.
. An unique word...
. The shadows of the night aren't so far.
They're black.Or gray.It doesn't matter.
The cards come and go .And the dice.
A domino of loneliness shells its ladder,
.The aftertaste of alcohol,insolent,fights the coffee
Eternal,obscure like a sorrow,
Lime a silent sorrow,unspeakable,and quiet.
Yes,it's the same café.But without anything.
It rested naked,nude,facing the wind,smelling like old times,
Smelling like a river,which is to say eternity.
It's the same café?
Looking at the street,
It doesn't' recognise the path of anyone,
Nor the docker,ravenous with alcohol and oblivion...
Nor the lost poet,nor the incurable bohemian,
.Or the casual kirkman,..nor the beggar.
Is this the same café?
Or time has been bartered ... into infinite?
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ESTÁS LEYENDO
ET DIMITTE NOBIS DEBITA NOSTRA
PoetryNUEVA Y BELLÍSIMA PORTADA: GENTILEZA DE LA SEÑORITA @NEBHEYS He decido publicar todos mis poemas y pequeños trozos de prosa poética en un solo volumen,en una Antología. El título es el original en latín de la antigua fórmula del Paternoster (Padren...
