Rezultatele căutării

Seară de Crăciun

Fernando Silva conduce spitalul
pentru copii din Managua.
 
În ajunul Crăciunului, rămase
până mai târziu la muncă.
Se auzeau deja rachetele,
iar artificiile începeau să lumineze cerul,
când Fernando decise să plece.
Ai săi îl așteptau acasă pentru a sărbători.
Făcu un ultim tur al saloanelor,
să vadă dacă totul e în regulă,
și atunci simți că îl urmăreau câțiva pași.
Câțiva pași de bumbac

Love

In the Amazon rainforest, the first woman
and the first man looked at each other with curiosity.
It was a funny thing, what they had between their legs.
- Were you cut?- asked the man.
- No - replied her - It has always been like this.
He examined her closely. Scratched his head.
There was a gaping wound there. And he said:
- Don't eat cassava, or babanans, or any fruit
that splits open upon maturing. I will cure you.
Lie down on the hammock and rest.
She complied. Patiently, she drank the herbal concoctions and
allowed him to apply the pomades and poultices.
 
She had to grit her teeth not to laugh,
when he said- don´t worry.
She liked the game, although she was growing tired
of fasting and spending her days lying on the hammock.
The memories of fruits made her mouth water.
 
One afternoon, the man came in running
through the forest.
He jumped, ecstatic, and cried:
- I found it! I found it!
He had just seen the male monkey curing the female one
on a treetop.
-It goes like this- said the man, approaching the woman.
When the long embrace ended, a musky scent
of flowers and fruits flooded the air.
Of the bodies, lying together, came off vapours and bright lights
never before seen, and such was their beauty that
both suns and gods were overcome with shame.
 

Micuta Moarte

Dragostea nu ne face sa ne ridem cind ajunge la locul cel mai profund al zborului lui: la cel mai profund, la cel mai inalt, scoate de la noi gemete si gemete, stragatele durerii, iar din durerea jubilanta, si gindindu-ne clar la aceasta nu prea e straniu, pentru ca a naste e o fericire care doare.
'Micuta moarte,' in Franta e ceea ce se numeste culminarea iubirii, care, spargindu-ne, ne impreuneaza si perdindu-ne, ne gaseste si gasindu-ne, ne renoveaza.
Micuta moarte, asa o zic, iar mare, foarte mare trebuie sa fie, iar ucindu-ne, ne naste.
 

The Tree's Memory

Seven women sat doing a circle
From far away, from their town of Monostenango
Humberto Ak’abal had given them some dry leaves
That he picked up ahead a tree
Each woman broke a leaf
 
One of them felt the wind blowing her ear
Another one felt the frond that was hammocking
Another one felt a beat of wings from the birds
Another one said that was raining inside her ear
Another one heard the steps of a little running insect
Another one heard a laughter echo
Another one heard an applause murmur
 
Humberto told me that, and I thought:
Didn't the dead leaves whisper the tree's memory to the women ears?
 

Fear Reigns

Hunger instills fear and the fear
Of silence runs through the streets
Fear is like a looming threat
If you love, you'll get AIDS
If you smoke, you'll get cancer
If you breath, you'll inhale pollution
If you drink, you'll get into an accident
If you eat, you'll raise your cholesterol
If you talk, you'll lose your job
If you walk, you'll face violence
If you think, you'll feel distressed
If you doubt, you'll go mad
If you feel, you'll be lonely
 
While workers are afraid of losing their job,
The unemployed are afraid of never finding one
And while drivers are afraid to walk
Pedestrians are afraid of getting hit
Democracy is afraid to remember
And language is afraid to speak
Civilians are afraid of the militia
And the militia is afraid of lowering their arms
And weapons are afraid of peace
 
And so fear reigns
While women fear domestic violence
Men fear fearless women
Fear of thieves, fear of the police
Fear of unlocked doors
Of time and no clocks
Of kids with no television
Fear of the night without sleeping pills
And of the morning with no stimulants
Fear of loneliness and fear of crowds
Fear of what was
Fear of what's to come
Fear of death
Fear of life