UN LUGAR PARA CREAR, DISFRUTAR, TRABAJAR Y COMPARTIR
viernes, 23 de marzo de 2012
Poesía de Federico García Lorca
It was myold voice ignorant ofthe densebitter juices. Thesoothsayerlickingmy feet under thefragilefernswet. Oh ancient voice ofmy love, ohmytruevoice, opento andvoicemyside, whenall the rosesflowed frommy tongue and the grassdid not know theimpassivehorse's teeth!
You arehere drinkingmy blood, childdrinking myheavymood, while my eyesare brokenin the wind with aluminumand the voices ofdrunks.
Let me passthe door where Eve eatsants Adamfecundfishanddazzled. Let me go, little man with thehorns.