"godo" poems - Hello Poetry

Godo Is Not Coming Ndue Ukaj In a stormy weather, The road from Ireland is closed In rainy nights, the sea cannot be crossed with small steps When swallowed by solitude just as the Earth cracked from the earthquake When pain has no time neither scientific decoding. Godo is not coming, is late, the welcome has contaminated him In a confortable sleep, is bending your dreams and my dreams. He is not coming, neither in the tree of life nor in the theater of surprises He is doing the sleep of welcome which your time doesn’t recognize... our time does not either You are waiting, just as the bride waiting for her husband on the abandoned bed, Dreaming with open arms while he brings the sack full of dreams When he places his hands softly, just as in lovely hair...you relax in there And begging for your dream, which is intertwined in your long fingers. Suddenly a bite astounded your body, the hand flew from the sack. You are wiping your forehead and understand that Godo is not here, neither his puzzling look is not here. Nevertheless you are not convinced that your dream is in a sack. It was tied as a noos forever just as Godo’s arrival. Just as the lightning crossing over the river of words flowing ferociously Just as your steps through dreams full of surprises towards the guards of time Which make the noise of life and the dream of welcome. And instill hope that Godo is going to come. No, Godo is not coming...! You are crying frantically until your tears have made a creek Between your cheek bones and their continuous flow. When the heart beats are felt just as the steps of the unknown When sadness is knocking in the black night Even Godo would have taken in his nail and be thrown away. (Translated by Peter Tase)

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Nov 2, 2011

Nov 2, 2011 at 5:53 PM UTC

ndue-ukaj

Godo Is Not Coming

Godo Is Not Coming Ndue Ukaj In a stormy weather, The road from Ireland is closed In rainy nights, the sea cannot be crossed with small steps When swallowed by solitude just as the Earth cracked from the earthquake When pain has no time neither scientific decoding. Godo is not coming, is late, the welcome has contaminated him In a confortable sleep, is bending your dreams and my dreams. He is not coming, neither in the tree of life nor in the theater of surprises He is doing the sleep of welcome which your time doesn’t recognize... our time does not either You are waiting, just as the bride waiting for her husband on the abandoned bed, Dreaming with open arms while he brings the sack full of dreams When he places his hands softly, just as in lovely hair...you relax in there And begging for your dream, which is intertwined in your long fingers. Suddenly a bite astounded your body, the hand flew from the sack. You are wiping your forehead and understand that Godo is not here, neither his puzzling look is not here. Nevertheless you are not convinced that your dream is in a sack. It was tied as a noos forever just as Godo’s arrival. Just as the lightning crossing over the river of words flowing ferociously Just as your steps through dreams full of surprises towards the guards of time Which make the noise of life and the dream of welcome. And instill hope that Godo is going to come. No, Godo is not coming...! You are crying frantically until your tears have made a creek Between your cheek bones and their continuous flow. When the heart beats are felt just as the steps of the unknown When sadness is knocking in the black night Even Godo would have taken in his nail and be thrown away. (Translated by Peter Tase)

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Un Godo, que una cueva en la Montaña Guardó, pudo cobrar las dos Castillas; Del Betis y Genil las dos orillas, Los Herederos de tan grande hazaña. A Navarra te dio justicia y maña; Y un casamiento, en Aragón, las Sillas Con que a Sicilia y Nápoles humillas, Y a quien Milán espléndida acompaña. Muerte infeliz en Portugal arbola Tus castillos; Colón pasó los godos Al ignorado cerco de esta Bola; Y es más fácil, oh España, en muchos modos, Que lo que a todos les quitaste sola, Te puedan a ti sola quitar todos.

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764

Francisco de Quevedo y Villegas

Advertencia a españa de que así como se ha hecho señora de muchos, así será de tantos enemigos envidiada y perseguida, y necesita de continua prevención por esa causa

Un Godo, que una cueva en la Montaña Guardó, pudo cobrar las dos Castillas; Del Betis y Genil las dos orillas, Los Herederos de tan grande hazaña. A Navarra te dio justicia y maña; Y un casamiento, en Aragón, las Sillas Con que a Sicilia y Nápoles humillas, Y a quien Milán espléndida acompaña. Muerte infeliz en Portugal arbola Tus castillos; Colón pasó los godos Al ignorado cerco de esta Bola; Y es más fácil, oh España, en muchos modos, Que lo que a todos les quitaste sola, Te puedan a ti sola quitar todos.

14

De hierro, no de oro, fue la aurora. La forjaron un puerto y un desierto, unos cuantos señores y el abierto ámbito elemental de ayer y ahora. Vino después la guerra con el godo. Siempre el valor y siempre la victoria. El Brasil y el tirano. Aquella historia desenfrenada. El todo por el todo. Cifras rojas de los aniversarios, pompas del mármol, arduos monumentos, pompas de la palabra, parlamentos, centenarios y sesquicentenarios, son la ceniza apenas, la soflama de los vestigios de esa antigua llama.

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377

Jorge Luis Borges

Elegía de la patria

De hierro, no de oro, fue la aurora. La forjaron un puerto y un desierto, unos cuantos señores y el abierto ámbito elemental de ayer y ahora. Vino después la guerra con el godo. Siempre el valor y siempre la victoria. El Brasil y el tirano. Aquella historia desenfrenada. El todo por el todo. Cifras rojas de los aniversarios, pompas del mármol, arduos monumentos, pompas de la palabra, parlamentos, centenarios y sesquicentenarios, son la ceniza apenas, la soflama de los vestigios de esa antigua llama.

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