segunda-feira, 21 de junho de 2010


A windy night and on this lonely road the prince of Parma's army
has left carcasses of horses
on a bald hill the bones of a recently conquered castle are glowing
there's only stone sand waste and a wind without purpose or color

What enlivens the landscape is a moon sharply inprinted on the sky
and a few soiled shadows bellow
as well as a white gallows for hanging from it are the thin pods
of bodies in which a wind blows life this wind without trees and clouds.

Zbigniew Herbert, The Collected Poems 1956 - 1998, Alissa Valles, Ecco, 2007

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