Monday, 20 June 2016


A rough translation of a poem by Ary Dos Santos

They were not my eyes that looked upon you
That undressed your worn out frame
Not my thirsty lips that I placed on you
That pronounced your secret name

They were not my fingers that touched you
Your fake beauty, your flickering flame
It was gross lust that placed upon you
Desires that I could not tame

It is not I who loves you
Who breathes you, groans you, sings you
But the rage that owns me, that wanted you

Loneliness is all I offer you
Disillusion the fate I leave you
Despair the only seed I give you.

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