A man and his hat & Other poems

Water in mirror (original poem: AGUA EN ESPEJOS)

Faces do not have age
it waves only through the faces
The subtle mantle of the universe
To cover the unrest
of this eternity
a forbidden fruit
and a garden of Eden
They do not wait for us anywhere

A man and his hat (original poem: UN HOMBRE Y SU SOMBRERO)

A man with his hat
a violin, fingerprints of his hand
the way he nails the night
like a dagger over his evening air
the echo chews his throat
his mind
his thurst
his hunger
he loves his destiny more than the women
leaving the pulse of his watch
bursts and creeps
with his suicidal pupil

A music is there in his wish
in the pockets of his pants
the vacuum
he spends his blood
in the crotch
on every page of a book

he can’t find the key
he runs
and the boat contains the bottle
with a dismissal telegram
as usual it happens on Thursdays

Shoes  (original poem: ZAPATOS)

through the hole
of my left shoe
I see the world
in great secrets
which begin
the appearance of dreams
as the walls of my own innocence
contours of passion
in other people’s heart
And in poems my hand holds

through the hole of my right shoe
I perceive the future
with half-closed eyes
the immortal pain of all my ghosts
the taste of a bursting danger
between the bones
how can I go with
bare feet?
and getting the footsteps
build a horizon
with rainbow between the shades
of time
and glances of chords between the suffocation of silence …
but the humanity is going through, travels
with his crucified ankles
while the rain
wash the traces of man and oblivion

Weeks (original poem: SEMANAS)

today I have eyes of Friday
I feel a dark, infinite tiredness
that cuts through my bones
a worn velvet
you saw the latitudes of my flesh
a wind creates my language
and it unlashes musical notes arranged by moons
hanging from the window
I feel cold in my veins
born of the oceans whom
I know only by photos
lights explode in my hands
fragmented crystals
lost between worn pages
of yellow books
In the distance the bells are heard
they kill the day
but I drink only at night
the hidden sap that I carry in the poems

Vortex (original poem: VÓRTICE)

the hand
is covered with a glove
of salt
the abyss opens
the cause-effect of question
the thirst unfolds
muscles before signs
my destroyer language
towards a desire named
rite of being

Originally written by Argentine poet Gladys Cepeda and translated from Spanish by Mainak Adak. Mainak is a professional linguist who specializes in Spanish and French.


About author

Gladys Cepeda
Gladys Cepeda 1 posts

Gladys Cepeda is an Argentine poet. She is the editor of a renowned literature blog Lak-Berna: http://lak-berna.blogspot.in/

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