Closer, closer. I am very well.
It’s raining; and it imposes a cruel limitation.
Move forward, move your foot forward.
Until what hour will these hands
that imitate a bramble patch not raise the curtains?
Do you see? The others, so comfortable, such effigies.
Closer here, closer here!
It’s raining. And today another ship
will pass loaded with funeral ribbons;
it will be like a black and deformed thread
uprooted from the sphinx-like illusion.
Closer here, closer here. You are at the border
and the boat can drag you to sea.
Ah, immobile curtains, symbolic...
My applause is a feast of black roses:
To cede my place!
And in the clamor of my resignation,
a thread of infinity will bleed.
I must not be so well;
Move forward, move your foot forward!
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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