I CANNOT GROW ACCUSTOMED

 I cannot grow accustomed to fragile matter.
I cannot grow accustomed to the heavy distance,
to my fevered fingers
trembling as they search for you in the air,
wounded by the touch of shadow.

I cannot grow accustomed...

I cannot grow accustomed to this cruel sorrow
that paralyzes and obsesses me so
with ominous foretellings,
waves of tireless blades
striking at the center of this cliff-bound clay.

I cannot grow accustomed...

I cannot grow accustomed to such uncertainty.
How much futile impatience
torments the fierce hidden destiny!
What a fatal agony—
to ignore the instant that will sever the flower!

I cannot grow accustomed...

I cannot grow accustomed to abandonment.
To borders of silence and disconnection.
To frozen lovelessness
born of an imposed, overpowering fashion.
To causeless rejection driven by ambitious intrigue.

I cannot grow accustomed...

I cannot grow accustomed
to cutting down the plant in its lushness,
to forgetting that the tender shoot, in another land,
stands in warmth and cold, exposed to the elements,
while the wind brings me none of its fragrance.

I cannot grow accustomed...

Emma-Margarita R. A.-Valdés

Traductora: Vekas Rodica

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