The Shadow of the Violet Bird
The Shadow of the Violet Bird
The violet bird sleeps in water that has no name and no shore,
its feathers falling slow and heavy over a city of smoke and glass,
there we will meet, when time has no face left and no name at all,
in the glass room where a foam-white sand keeps drifting down on us.
We'll carry on our shoulders the gloves forgotten in every old house,
and the eyelids of those who once loved will open again, unmatched,
small phosphorus fireflies will burn our skin with a mute little flame,
and the dream lodged in our throats, like a bird, refuses to leave.
Through black castles where the twilight washes its ashen hands,
the wax heads of unwanted women call out to us in secret,
heavy curtains hide behind them a knife and an old mirror,
and past them sleeps an angel with no body and no match.
The lost star of morning watches us with hollow glass eyes,
sleepwalkers cross the rain with steps of wax and tar,
and everything we ever loved burns in us like a living coal,
a small violet fire that will not, no matter what, go out.
We slept so long, and so deep, inside our own heavy dream,
that we lost the habit of staying still, even for a moment,
the violet bird flew off long ago from our hollow chest,
leaving behind only the ash of a dream and an echo of longing.
---
Am pastrat imaginile si ritmul frazei lungi, dar am lasat versurile sa respire natural în engleza, fara sa fortez o traducere silaba-cu-silaba. Spune-mi daca vrei un ton mai crud/mai dur, sau unul mai fluid si mai liric.
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