Forgive me if I take some years still leave
. Building
friendship as a wing-like
wind that turned the world within hours
come to walk the earth in search
the best place for you to stay. I tried first
shadows numberless plants:
the cypress in whose black slab
our memory write the epitaphs for the best memory;
the shade of the poplars,
is like bathing or tremble as
the willow
dry sadly like the skeleton of a cry. And I wanted to let you
protected from the sun and its excesses
under that love is always a shadow, but found no
-and I've tried jasmine and palms-mettle with this exact
between heat and cold that
is happiness for your blood.
Shadows will not do.
I tried, the facts
of water, land or pen, the world offers
man, alive or dead.
I thought you were
a sea where the divine, very light, floating
distracted
all pure whiteness, as a foam
without sin and without direction,
playing with his grace eternally single and aged
was made and rid, each wave.
I would have been the afternoon watching from a dolphin.
But the seas have not yet learned the lukewarmness
your body deserves for having been loved
slowly
are too cold at night. I traveled beaches
looking increasingly fine sand,
as far
looking clearer thoughts at a time, soul to soul.
But nobody knows how significant
which are all grains of sand, its edges
the damage they do to the tender bodies,
if I wanted as I want to be
left on his own happiness. I thought
wonderful deep caves;
entered, but ojos,
a los dos días de vivir allí
se sentían heridos
por la implacable claridad, por esa
luz tenebrosa y dura, luz sin sol,
sin luna, luz sin padres, sin entrañas,
tan idéntica a otra
de que vamos huyendo en esta vida
porque nos quita la mejor ceguera
a fuerza de evidencia dolorosa y clara.
Y yo nunca he querido
dejarte en nada que dolor parezca.
Desesperadamente
entré en los almacenes
de más pisos del mundo, preguntando
por camas, por divanes, por cojines.
Los cojines a veces,
según me han dicho, están rellenos
con sobras de los sueños, con retazos
de algunas ilusiones unemployed, weak people
deliver at any cost, being quiet.
So at times both
reclining comforts us in them and feel their softness
as a company. Well let
But it's like where you are
continue every evening at home,
five to six, under the white roof where your eyes
written without the answer arrives. And I want to let you
under roofs that you always respond. I've looked
hands, many hands.
The hands are very large and can
leave a whole being in some hands, just as
left our future if we have faith,
in two-syllable names open. But
hands almost never know
be open, always longing to seize
, closed, making it his
that you do not want to be one
and ampos like snow to me I
unmade
fingers for wanting to save. I found a
they knew could you be, unchanged,
as you want them, all palm
as are the plains to the sky
in them lives forever free,
delivered to your blue.
And the palms
there are lines that mark
strange directions and plotting sinuses,
not well understood. And if you want to let you leave something
as smooth as a lake
before the first wind of this world,
where you invent your own destiny. Hands
know where you could rest at ease,
if they were not mine. Yes, what a dream
indulge in my hands,
like others, and other self!
In our being mortal and
I have not sought after place to leave.
not even in that match
of a breast, around eyes, lips, color
as shelter,
that you used to you she'll sleep
forward to eternity, and ceiling.
Because you were there and, in some eyes, lips
in, in an open chest
when they tried to be
the
paradise where your angels wings
never asked to fly in another air.
And as requested, and finally
I leave you in a way.
The paths are narrow you tried:
always just family pictures
when eleven
radio broadcast has been completed and you have to go to sleep.
In trains and gone,
on night trains where they give the ticket to your dream,
and where you were born,
so beautiful and naked in the morning, as the last
Venus,
on the waves Tues
metal which is the speed of express trains.
And goodbye, the leave
on the platform of a station, as usual, they are pretty
by
signs which announce the arrival heaven, would in my chest
the same mistake as May draws:
and you can come back. And this fatal
horizon before: hope.
and boats already knows everything
since betrayed the winds. Salen
to fixed dates,
always leave a port full of hotels
all
with huge neon signs that say
Franklin, Monopole, Minerva,
much sadder than the Milky Way.
And there is no hope of shipwrecks.
So forgive me if it takes
still leave you and if
I look up to the seventh heaven of the eyes, carefully
without mourn, serene,
in search of a star or perhaps
which were okay. And meanwhile we're still together
,
few more minutes, until seven.
Pedro Salinas.
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