Other names
Now, suddenly, other names
whisper in my mind, murmur,
as the water of a river nobody certainly knows,
the portrait of the same shadowiness
now
this night,
the same night I once saw from home,
new words name the unreachable
diminutive flowers of fire
who tremblingly blossom in the highs
I slowly, fearfully pronounce it
and I can not stop feeling
the fragileness of everything I know
the fragileness of the signs my mother once lovely taught me
we have lost
we have forgotten the meaning of the first fire
and now the glyphs of our ancestors
are vanishing in their own muteness
everything happen repeatedly
everything will happen until the end of the time
said the poet
and something like a tiny, slow dust also begun covering his wordsat the end nothing will remain
nor a single word
nor a stone over stone
but I am trying to talk about this night of sadness
only
below her,
the hidden seeds and the buried bones of my grandparents
continue indolently sleeping under the earth
without being disturbed
for this kind of inoffensive thoughts
I know
this is the sad night I once saw from home,
but now I can smell another peel over the surface of everything
and I am aware of the unmovable
deeply nature of things
who is beating from its very inside
I am the foreign one
I saidand all my words,
just a full fit of dust and symbols,
are silenced in the wind