My father is sleeping. His august demeanor
represents a gentle heart;
he is so sweet now...
and if anything in him is bitter, it must be me.
There’s solitude in the home, he prays
and there is no news from the children today.
My father awakens, sounding
the flight to Egypt, the healing farewell.
He’s now so close;
and if anything is far from him, it must be me.
And my mother walks over there in the gardens
savoring a taste now without taste.
She’s now so soft,
such a wing, such an exit, such love.
There’s solitude in the home without quarrels,
without news, without greenery, without childhood.
And if this evening anything is shattered
and descends and rustles,
it is the two white paths, curved.
Through them my heart goes on foot.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.| Original: |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1927. The author died in 1938, so this work is also in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 80 years or less. This work may also be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. |
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