The sunset faded away
In the reminiscences of a twilight,
In the red braids
Of the lady who rushed downstairs, desperate,
Running from a hotel room
In the middle of the early hours
Of a nice morning
It was late May, time for flowers.
Right in front of the ocean, the beach
Outside was blue… When she left through
The beautiful glass door
With detailed allegories —
The god of the damned!
She breathed fresh air,
Filling herself with the sky of May
And suddenly, while breathing in,
She realized an abyss — and jumping in
Without knowing where to go…
Life was beautiful outside
In an inexplicable way,
But she had faith in her naive confidence,
In the twilight of her red braid
And in the golden skin of an unmade sunset.
ML & VP
Sometimes I ask V to write poems with me and we just let things flow without really paying much attention to what we’re saying, causing a beautiful disaster that no one gets in the end. Each one of us writes a couple lines, then waits for the other to complete whatever the first one tried to say, even if unaware of what the hell was happening in the beginning… This explanation doesn’t make sense, does it? Oh… Well…
And, yes, this was translated (very poorly) by me.