by Carmen Firan, translation by Julian Semilian || Translator's Links
I try to get closer to those around me
To be friendly with strangers,
More familiar with those I meet
For the first time and the last time.
I ask them about their children
And I don't even know
If they have children or not.
I send regards to the mates they divorced long ago.
Despite this the people are not content.
Let's talk politics, they tell me.
But look, the sun falls an oblique angle
Over the volcanic island's black sand
And death wraps itself
Into the multi-colored dress
Of the most beautiful girl
And this city trembles with horror
And the mad old man from our corner
Still walks around with a photograph
Stapled to his chest
Warning that the end is coming
And other beginnings
For which I have no more strength.
And I tell my stranger friends
How the world looks from the upper floors
Frozen in its glassy silence.
But they request we drop the metaphysics,
Worries over collapsed illusions
Let's talk some politics instead.
In the end God takes care of everything
And of all things that He granted us
The most valuable is forgetfulness,
To find each morning the sun at the same place.
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