HomeLess

[esta es la versión en inglés del poema IndiGentes, hecha por mi, que - aunque no soy angloparlante - tengo más o menos claro el asunto, sin caer en la trampa de las traducciones literales]



In a certain city
where ghosts can effortless be seen
they decided to call them homeless people.

No one knows
when was it that they passed away,
they are not anymore living souls
they aren’t anything but specters
who pretend to be sleeping on the sidewalks.

If by any distraction
people get into the streets they live in
and come across with such an apparition
they’ ll rush their steps
deepen their look into themselves
into the traffic lights,
change the radio station, or
if so much fears allow them
throw some coins in the air.

Ghosts, always the same color
- greenish ochre –
seem to call out coming times,
and multiply themselves
flying among trashcans
bridges, parks, windshields,
sometimes carrying bags
filled with people’s memories
or stones for the Little Red-Cap’s wolf.

Inhabitants,
faithful contributors
to the homeless trust
expect some gratitude for their selfish gifts,
and ghosts
- always generous –
give them so,
even when in their minds
they really fell sorry knowing that
to be a ghost
all you need is
a stroke of fortune.

1 comentario:

buskan dolos dijo...

ya vine, pero bueno, que maravilla...

es que lo que pasó es que con tantas acrividades, casi no nos juntamos, pero de habver sabido de tu poema de inidgentes, te diría que yo he sido un absoluto Rápsoda... asi qeu enterametne de acuerdo con tu indigente...
tendré que ir a Panamá, Chiriquí y hasta NGobe, y organizar una cosa que se llame... FESTIVAL DE LA PALABRA DEL SEMAFORO.

ay mi lucy... otro beso por este lado.

contestame mientras en FB, mientras llegas a la conclusion quine soy y quien te quiere.

primera pista, Quien estaba junto a ti y a mi Room Aid Norberto Salinas, cuando sembraste tu arbol en el jardin de la poesía?

jajaj... múa para ti