Friday, June 11, 2010

Nanas de la cebolla

Upon hearing that his wife was surviving only on onions and bread, the poet wrote this:-

The onion is frost
shut in and poor
Frost of your days
and of my nights.
Hunger and onion,
black ice and frost
large and round.
My little boy
was in hunger's cradle
He was nursed
on onion blood
But your blood
is frosted with sugar,
onion and hunger.
A dark woman
dissolved in moonlight
pours herself thread by thread
into the cradle.
Laugh, son,
you can swallow the moon
when you want to.
Lark of my house,
keep laughing.
The laughter in your eyes
is the light of the world.
Laugh so much
that my soul, hearing you,
will beat in space.
Your laughter frees me,
gives me wings
It sweeps away my loneliness
knocks down my cell.
Mouth that flies,
heart that turns
to lightning on your lips.

Miguel Hernandez

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