Look at me.
I have my side soaked with these sparks
melting away so many veiled winters.
There’s ivy in the songs I listen to
at nights
and that thin line that separates (interpreting us)
the want for each other
from the want to ravish one another.
I don’t know.
Nostalgize me.
Let’s go back to blinks and look at us
right before you end us...
“Able or unable?”
Madrid was burning yet there was a kiss
in which we didn’t care about
dying in flames.
Take out the camera and capture this:
The Moon cries as well
knowing it will never
be able to reach the wolf.
One of Chris Pueyo’s poems from his poetry book “Aquí dentro siempre llueve” (“Here Inside Is Always Raining”). The author is a talented young Madrid student, a fresh writer, with poetic and musical approach to life.
Own translation by me.
My translation of selected poems of his: N*3