So Let's Live

I'm sick of roaming through these yellow streets
and pacing the absence of this desolate shore;
I invite you: let's live, so let's live.
To heal the lonely abandon
of cold fossils, misshapen bodies,
why don't we climb the winding stair,
up and up to hang on the clock dial?
Empty the numbers down the spiral
to fall like a cry into echo:
Let's live, so let's live

But a shot caused commotion in space
and a suddent flutter of seagulls
stopped in the night.
Ferocious lights fillet the air,
searching for track in the void.
Shadows broke in, hounds in full cry
hunting these words, surrondings this voice.
Were we then suspect because of our longing?

Our breath which hung on a thread of salive
among the to-ing and fro-ing of other starts
was cut short by the swish of sabres.
Silence! Hide! Be gone!
Shouted at m e. Shouted at you.
Die on the wheel! They shouted.
Thus your secrect and mine ran dry between our knees.
And our bodies looked like other bodies
strewn under purple light
in a still-life landscape.

Rush of warm light deep through the bones
in a white flight of melancoly,
absolute whiteness.
Blindly we proped among shadows
seeking eyes,
the shining star
and the living rose.

And if the leaving and the retun
are two dreams which go on and on,
and they continue their journey without us,
why cross ourselves with ancient commandments
when we know there is no such certainty?

We were shabby ragbags of eloquence,
a squander of thoughts in nice language
and we witnessed so many lies and truths,
stories that sail through our minds
dream-travelling in and out
of an uncertain time door,
door which closes truimphal arches
and opens into a drawing room,
whiter than white, where there is no time.

There dayless and nightless I listened
for you reapproaching footsteps.
I looked for your body in vain
among standing ice figures
but the statue I wanted lost its shape,
day followed day like falling leaves,
grapes drop from the bunch like dreary rain.
Backward through the broken mirror,
down the stairs they'd been up,
or perhaps these very lines coming home
are a letter with a different message.

Under thick purple fog
one after another they passed
through the great, whiter than white
drawing room of Castle Visconte.
Discoloured images of absent friends,
my mother singing and eating grapes,
silhouette of the Pablo brothers,
Marx, Lenin and Mona Lisa,
warlike masks of the Mayas,
the Guernica horse in its agony climbing the wall
and ferocious lights cutting the night.

Outside an ominous silence
suddenly possesses the land,
broken by a flock of birds in panic flight,
which quickly look stuck to the sky.

Behind them the earthquake shudders,
every living creature suffers
and the earth writhes.
Stampede of hungry dinosaurs.
A dog growls and the air vibrates.
All flee in every direction
and the bells clang.

At that moment I felt cold in my memory
under the shade of a tree
which wanted to be and was not.
Since then I sail your sad eyes
and your smile's haven with my blind mouth,
between zodiac waters
and the isles of your breasts.

Revolutionary power
which resists being shot down,
under the utopia of closed circles.
We are the kiss that runs with the serpent
on the warm sand.
We want to be butterfly chyrsalis-freed,
triumphant spring with blossoms and garlands,
dance the love waltz in the El Saol carnival.