I feel the sun
in the wrinkles of my hands
empty of light
the shadows are
on the fingers
rings sparkling
the morning.
Sinto o sol
nas rugas de minhas mãos
vazias de luz
as sombras são
nos dedos
anéis que refulgem
manhã.
by Armado TABORDA, in "PALAVRAS, MÚSICAS E BLASFÉMIAS QUE ENVELHEÇO NA CIDADE", Ulmeiro Editores,1996
(post 1st edition, 2015; 2nd edition, 2017; 3rd edition, 2021)
kiss
SOFTLY along the road of evening,
In a twilight dim with rose,
Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew
Old Nod, the shepherd, goes.
His drowsy flock streams on before him,
Their fleeces charged with gold,
To where the sun's last beam leans low
On Nod the shepherd's fold.
The hedge is quick and green with briar,
From their sand the conies creep;
And all the birds that fly in heaven
Flock singing home to sleep.
His lambs outnumber a noon's roses,
Yet, when night's shadows fall,
His blind old sheep-dog, Slumber-soon,
Misses not one of all.
His are the quiet steeps of dreamland,
The waters of no-more-pain;
His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of stars,
"Rest, rest, and rest again."
kiss
kiss
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