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tradus
Little Infinite Poem
To take the wrong road
is to arrive at the snow
and to arrive at the snow
is to graze for twenty centuries on graveyard weeds.
To take the wrong road
is to arrive at woman,
woman who isn't afraid of light,
woman who kills two roosters in one second,
light which isn't afraid of roosters,
and roosters who don't know how to sing on top of the snow.
But if the snow takes the wrong heart,
the Southern Wind could very well arrive
and since the air cares nothing for groans,
we will have to graze once more on graveyard weeds.
I saw two mournful wheat-spikes made of wax,
burying a countryside of volcanoes,
and I saw two insane little boys
who wept as they pushed on a murderer's eyeballs.
But two, that has never been a number!
It is anguish and also its shadow,
it's only the guitar where love feels its discouragement,
it's only the demonstration of someone else's infinity
and the walls around a dead man,
and the punishment of the new resurrection that will never end.
Dead people hate the number two,
but the number two makes women drop off to sleep,
and since women are afraid of light,
and light trembles before roosters,
and since all roosters know is how to fly over the snow,
we will have to graze on graveyard weeds forever.
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