Sunday, 4 January 2015

54

"The trees were dancing, melancholic,
the wind was directing their dances,
while at the shade of a bridge, a poet
was writing his death.

Poets have no time,
they eat the seconds,
they get lost in the eternity of absences,
hide in the crying of all eyes,
and die in every verse."

(Paco Alvarez, the poem - song by Santi Feliu. My poor translation.)

















  welcome to havana upon tyne 3.0, let's fly together

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