#trymirror

[heatherlux17]

Try Mirror

I couldn’t find the exact translation of the poem online, so I am attaching a photo of the poem from which I drew inspiration. :)

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My age is like a rising sun

often healed by gradual moons;

scarce droughts have completed their break weakly

that abundant fruit rots in my home now.

Not yet has the spring of reality come,

and I can’t bury and hide and bury again

if I am to forfeit the trickling water

arising from ponds the size of palaces.

I have nightmares of old dregs, but none can ask

if this flourishing brook of mine denies

the realistic deprivation on which it ceases

Time abstains the extinct pleasure,

and the visible ally that restores our heart

starves from the warmth we gain, and withers!

[gabem923]

White Epilog

(Opposite poem of “Blue Prelude”)

This morning, the floor below me

was soothed with tranquility.

Silence floated up the room

like steam in a hot bath.

My ears did not hear a sound

throughout the building,

imagined a voice

with rough sound, yelling

outside of the light.

And the calmness left.

On my couch, I thought

the voice

pierced my ears, pulling

me into his head.

[jdunn35]

Try Mirror

If You Forget Me

I don’t want you to know many things. You don’t know how this is: if I do not look at the dull moon, at the blue branch of the fast autumn at my door, if I do not touch away from the cold the impalpable crystal or the smooth body of the log, everything carries you to me, as if nothing that exists, aromas, darkness, metals, were large boats that move away from those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, in the future, if little by little you begin loving me I shall keep loving you little by little. If suddenly you remember me look for me, for I shall already have remembered you. If you think it short and happy, the calmness of banners that stops through my life, and you decide to bring me at the shore of the heart where I don’t have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I won’t lift my arms and my roots will set here to seek no other land. But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are not destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is not repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, my love does not feed on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms with leaving mine.