I placed my dream in a ship
and the ship on top of the sea;
—and then parted the sea with my hands
to sink my dream in the deep.
My hands still drip with water
from the blue of the waves thus parted
and the color that runs from my fingers
colors the sands, now deserted.
The wind is approaching from afar,
the night in the cold submits;
under the waves lies dying
my dream, in the hold of a ship…
I will weep as much as needed,
so that I might the sea increase
and that my ship might come to the bottom
and that my dream might cease.
And then, all will be perfect:
the beach smooth, the waters ordered,
my eyes, dry as stones
my two hands, shattered.
Poetry 365
Inspired by Billy Collins' Poetry 180 project, I post one poem per day here, for at least a year. | tags by author or subject | contact me here
Tagged
cecilia meireles
