quinta-feira, 10 de fevereiro de 2011
The next tide will erase the way through the mudflats,
and everything will be again equal on all sides;
but the small, far-out island already has its
eyes closed; bewildered, the dike draws a circle
around its inhabitants who were born
into a sleep in which many worlds
are silently confused, for they rarely speak,
and every phrase is like an epitaph
for something washed up on shore, unknown,
that inexplicably comes to them and remains.
And so it is, from childhood on, with everything
described in their gaze: things not applying to them,
too big, too merciless, sent back too many times,
which exaggerates even more their aloneness.
Rainer Maria Rilke