Every Day You Play...
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| Ripe, Spring Orchards, bud. Thirteen Ways To Love You In Victoria Place |
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water,
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I alone can contend against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Curl round me as though you were frightened.
Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
Until I even believe that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels,
and rustic baskets of kisses.
and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
by Ricardo Eliécer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto
The young poet's intention in publishing under a pseudonym
was to avoid his father's disapproval of his poems.
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Look around, in our nature
Laughter is the language of the soul
there's only one thing of danger for you here
poetry,
Ay, Ay, Ay
Yes, Every Day You Play...
See how much I love you I am a swarm of sighs
I find you in people And in the air I breathe
I put candles to my saints
I pray fervently
To have the miracle done to me
I have my heart squeezed
Well, I live it, missing you I'm going to burn slow
If you were Butterfly of Colours
I would become pollen
To be near you
If you were the Desperate Song
I would become Poem 20
To never stop seeing you
I Confess I Have Lived
Pablo Neruda
so sang
Matilde Urrutia
faced darkness and smiled,
took mystery as her lover and
raised light as her child“
Saul Williams
