1.
Here, where time
seems to have stopped.
Here, where the land
is abandoned,
sacrificed daily
to useless memories
and heroic songs.
Here, where blood
seems fruitless.
Here, in the stillness
of the cemetery,
I’ve still found
the steady gaze
of crushed eyes,
I’ve listened to the words
of a stiffened tongue.
I’ve glimpsed life.
3.
I
My eyes seek nudes
in the land of masks,
where even smiles
disguise themselves.
Are there traces of foreign clothes
on your naked body?
Do your hands also, sometimes,
disguise themselves.
II
Your eyes on the swing
shift from smiles to weeping.
They smile full of tears,
they cry among guffaws
and there’s always a slight
fissure
for fright.
Your eyes on the swing
shift from smiles to weeping;
they move from weeping to smiles
and open themselves to fright.
Your eyes on the swing.
Black flowers,
laughter and lament.
