The Poet Begs His Lover to Write Him
Love of my entrails, sickness in health,
I have waited so long to receive your letter!
Like a faded flower, I think it would be better
to lose you forever than to squander myself.
The air is eternal; the calm stones freeze,
not knowing or trying to keep away the gloom.
The innermost heart has no need of the moon
to pour out its frozen nectar of bees.
But I still suffer. I have torn out every vein
to tie around your waist a tiger and a dove,
locked in a duel of flowers and pain.
So fill up my madness with the words of your love
or let me live forever on the darkened plain
of my soul, serene beneath the night sky above.
Federico García Lorca
Translated from Spanish by Paul Weinfield, © 2016
Photo by Kristamas Klousch