Previous Entry Share Next Entry
Trail (En)
lucas1976 wrote in bpsociety

Trail (En)


Slowly chasing the traces of the night,

trailing up the veins of exhaustion till reaching anxiety,

manipulating the filthy brume that precedes the day

until crafting it in that dingy air of the threshold of the night.


Would it be possible to tell of the wounds in my soles

which of them were crafted in the slow walk home,

and which in the intrepid lunge against the streets?


Would it be possible to tell of the benches of the squares,

in their rugged texture of moisten stone or worn-out woods,

the weight of a working man gathering the energy to get home

from the weight of the last desperate man

waiting there to be shot by the day?


  • 1
You've done it! Hell great!

"which of them were crafted in the slow walk home,"
- crafted? why not being born? Now it sounds more like an art of creating wounds and not something that was born in pain.

"waiting there to be shot by the day?"
- isn't it too abrupt? cuz it really changes the meaning you were speaking about and what I got as "stunned".

Asan, thanks for your comments! In a way you are right with both interpretations.
Crafting wounds as an art of creating them somehow betrays the original meaning of being born with pain. But since an absolutely literal translation is close to impossible, this detour seems to address the idea that when wounds are a consequence of a long endeavour of whatever kind, they may be taken as a delicate piece of evidence.

About 'shot', that was the meaning in the original metaphore in Spanish: sunrays as a million of bullets. I wanted to describe the feeling of angst of an unwanted daylight, when what one needs is just some more night time.

  • 1

Log in