I stepped on the ground of Valencia and wept like a child
Perhaps I had glanced to the sky, once more,
While tears burnt my skin.

This is me, the black of ulcerated flesh
This is my wound
What is left of a man
A sick animal, kneeling
In the wreckage of his memory.

I stepped on the ground of Valencia and wept like a child
Left my dead behind
Behind my tongue
And my dreams,
My soul, dying
By the blows of its executioners.

Les mer «Arrival to Valencia / Chegada a Valência / Maria João Cantinho» →