Autobiography of a wastelands rim [a poem: now in spanish and english] - poetry
Memoirs of a Wasteland's Rim
It still was light when she paused at the wasteland's rim- Over, the rim rest like a sleeping brute, a impassive frame Adjacent to the blue where early stars hung like oil lamps Hanging from old beams and shade?the inexpressive frame Her traction jammed the beams, as she had fallen onto it Alone, she watched the forenoon, climbing about her A hobo woman, apparent by life, and aslant dreams With beginning of hurt and molded muscle on her face Her amount carved aligned with the stiff frame, She tried to jump, and lost her balance, execution like a bird Now sipping the gloom in the ledge and crushed hopes She yielded ahead of the slow build up of sunset Blood dripped, with her dying darkness And a red moon hurled a flame across The dim clouds, burning during the sky The beset sky above her?
Crossing the valley's floor her eye obsessed it Rocky images, maximum points Thrusting herself up confidently from to the ledge The painted crack of dawn blushed over the rim Her brows and nose, face adjacent to the sandstone stone Massive injuries was compelling form, Her line hanging so idly diagonally the sun It was too great a task-to die alone?she wished now She had not jumped?a thousand feet below, yet to go. Too much for any woman in a lost world Out of the weak wood her mind had peace; She knew soon it would all be over-alas Mute and protesting adjacent to life's uselessness A narrow path lay below her lean body Between death and attainment, a careless foot The rocks beneath her weakening, she plunged Plunged to her death, in the monument hands of the valley Thinking of it, as she fell, accepted wisdom with a smiled, Saying, looking up-dead beforehand her echoes: 'Time is short?time is short?time is short!' When they found her, her face was bold of falling.
In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza
Las memorias del Borde de una Tierra desértica
Todavía estaba iluminado cuando ella pausó en el borde de la tierra desértica- Sobre, el borde descansaba como un bruto durmiente, un marco de madera Adyacente hacia el azul donde estrellas mañaneras colgadas como lámparas de aceite, colgando desde viejos rayos y dando sombra? al marco de madera? Su equilibrio cogiendo los rayos, mientras ella había caído sobre esto
Sola, ella miró la mañana, subiendo hacia ella Una mujer trainera, marcada por la vida, y sueños inclinados Con el aspecto de dolor y el músculo moldeado sobre su cara Su figura inclinada contra el marco de madera, Ella trató de brincar, y perdió el equilibrio, colgando como un pájaro Ahora bebiendo a sorbos la penumbra en la repisa y esperanzas trastornadas
Ella cedió antes del avance inactivo de la puesta del sol La Sangre goteó, con su oscuridad mortal
Y una luna carmesí lanzó una llama a través De las nubes vagas, ardiendo en todas partes del cielo
El cielo atormentado encima de ella?
Cruzando el piso del valle su ojo agarró esto
Imágenes rocosas, lo más altos puntos. Desde donde se empujó ella con audacia hacia la repisa,
La mañana pintada ruborizada sobre el borde Sus frentes y nariz, de cara contra la piedra de granito,
Heridas masivas tomaban la forma, Su silueta flotando tan indolente a través del sol
Esto fue demasiado una gran tarea - para morir sola?que ella deseó ahora
Ella no había brincado?miles de pies abajo, aún ir.
Demasiado para cualquier mujer en un mundo perdido
Fuera de la madera débil su mente tenía paz; Ella sabía que immediately todo esto estaría sobre ¡ay! Muda y protestando contra la inutilidad de la vida
Un camino estrecho descansa debajo de su cuerpo delgado Entre la muerte y el logro, un pie descuidado Las rocas debajo de su debilitamiento, ella se sumergió Sumergida a su muerte, en las manos de talladura del valle
Pensando en ello, mientras ella se cayó, pensando con una sonrisa, Diciendo, alzando la vista-muerta ante sus ecos: "¡El tiempo es corto, el tiempo es corto?. El tiempo es corto!"
Cuando ellos la encontraron, su cara estaba sin miedo a la caída.
http://dennssiluk. tripod. com
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