Not waving...

Un poema de Stevie Smith. La sutil diferencia entre saludar y pedir rescate...

Not Waving But Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

Regalo del fin de semana

Un poema de Saradha Soobrayen, un regalo para el fin de semana...un regalo para el fin.

I will unlove you

I will unlove you and become hollow,
undo every feeling from its hold.

I will lose one lung and restrict blood flow,
deflate my heart and circulate the cold.

Numb my tongue and choose not to swallow,
tie up my larynx, let love go untold.

Squeeze the tenderness from my marrow,
and scrub sensation from every fold.

Will I still be your Saradha tomorrow?
What becomes of us when love lets go?