A dry rose… / Una rosa seca…

There stood the Saxon poetess
face to face with the rainfall
puffing away on a sad coffee
sour on her own bitterness.

Flying in a fragile feather
and a dose of oblivious verses
expatriate in her own exile
running away over eggshells.

Trying to reach her silhouette
with three open and spasmodic footsteps
birthplace of the pain squeezing her chest.

Because I knew she did not exist
while the wind whispered her couplets
to leave calm the one whom is dead.
Allí estaba la poetisa sajona
cara a cara con la lluvia
fumándose un café triste
agrio en sus amarguras.

Volando en una pluma frágil
y una dosis de ajenos versos
expatriada en su propio exilio
huyendo sobre cáscaras de huevo.

Tratando de alcanzar a su silueta
con tres pasos espasmódicos y abiertos
donde nació el dolor apretándole el pecho.

Porque yo supe que ella no existía
mientras el viento le susurraba coplas
Para dejar tranquilo a quien está muerto.

Gavriel Navarro© 2013
Rosa seca

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