Home in the memory
I listen to the sound of the rain
On the zinc of the house.
Its often purring of water
and strange voices dripping.
I can imagine the old tiles.
Brought from another distant world,
like the rancor of walkers and
tax collectors
that liquidate us.
I appreciate this useless hatred
that clings to my side,
like a vitreous leech, penetrating the flesh
the confines,
the bed
and shudders me more than the weed
that climbs the musty walls
of memory,
of uncertain anguish
and the next memory
that stains,
like an indelible wisp,
fragrant sensation of having you
as before
cheerful in the kitchen.
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)
Escucho el repicar de la lluvia
Sobre el zinc de la casa.
Su menudo ronronear de agua
y voces extrañas que se escurren.
Puedo imaginas las viejas baldosas.
Traídas de otro mundo lejano,
cual rencor de caminantes y
cobradores de impuestos
que nos liquidan.
Aprecio este odio inservible
que se prende a mi costado,
cual sanguijuela vítrea, penetrando la carne
los confines,
el lecho
y me estremece más que la yerba
que sube por las mohosas paredes
del recuerdo,
de la incierta angustia
y el siguiente recuerdo
que manchas,
cual brizna imborrable,
olorosa sensación de tenerte
como antes
alegre en la cocina.
If you like to read books, I leave you the link to my novel.
Love is a dog from hell
Digital
Are they raindrops on the tin roof or is
it the man with the big bag
or are they his helpers, the elves
whose footsteps you hear tripping
tripple trap tripple trap - come down from the roof!
Is it during the night or
also during the day
that memories show themselves and
replace with the past where
bricks imported from overseas
have been baked from brick kilns on the river and shipped?
The kitchen is empty
There is no window with a view
On the rain that knows no end
I hold my brush and in my mind
I see the place where I thought
you would be present
the kettle is on the fire
and starts whistling
4:00 p.m. - tea time
Wow, synergy can be jjj. Magnificent poem. I could picture the whole picture of what you described. I saw the potatoes, the butter knife. The kitchen and the warm atmosphere. The colors degraded by the cold. And the coffee pot, about to release its smoke of coffee pot life. The cat dozing in its world of stamens.
#wewrite #comment
How can it be that you see what I didn't describe because I'm distracted by the sounds of little footsteps on the ceiling, underneath the roof which for sure aren't potatoes sprouting!
#wewrite #comment