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jueves, 1 de marzo de 2012

WAITING FOR THE BUS TO COME



You were there, Elena,
waiting for the bus;
and then you wondered
if there were something else to loose.

It was a thursday's night
when I realised that you were there
waiting for the bus.
As wandering by my sight,
you shew your curly darkly hair;
waiting for the bus
you were, and I was dreaming
about the end of us.

You were there, Elena,
waiting for the bus;
and then you wondered
why I came out from the dust.



01 marzo 2012




And then, rising up from the floor,
the silly dust fought your eyes.
You were at the stop, Elena, 
waiting for the bus to come.

Nor a whore, nor a maiden, 
just your glasses coloured red;
nor Hell, neither Aidenn,
just the open door you waited;
nor a dove, nor a raven,
just your hair as a spiderweb
-which kept my feeling's debt.

Elena, said I when you were leaving
just the gloomy smell you spread,
not to abhor, but not to adore;
and finally was closed the door. 


28 marzo 2012

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