Alba-Vagrant

Nicolás Guillén
Pale morning Paris grows on my shoulders
After the night this breeze long my love
Leaf color honey of the autumn gliding through the streets
on sidewalks leaves fall on the head of the beggars
Even sleep has been lifted a woman picked up a beret
He had at the foot of a dormant and has covered her face
The tenderness of that woman under black rags
as pale as the pigeon day flower
it flits about the Seine's silver Crystal smoke
So here is the dawn I tell you now that it is fall
This is the dawn of the city is dead bones can be patted down
and nobody will say anything policemen sleeping ears of Cork
laws sleep misery doze I walk way
first man in this new day as if the city were my wife
and heaven being born from his back contemplated I nude
So is Paris I tell you sometimes dream that I walk a dead world
After the last bombing killed hope
I do not understand much, but I feel a little Robinson Crusoe
Ronbinson of this terrible beautiful big city called Paris
Cats come out everywhere good days the rubbish tins are filled
broken toys fruit rotting clothing torn papers
papers where oblivion has left his dark scar
The world civilization that is dead cats and I survived
Facing one of these bridges, I will choose my house
Maybe that's the red curtain in the window
or another that moves as if to Hello good morning
But it is not truth behind all those grey walls there are men
breathing they snore and dream
men who might remember a cry lost in the turquoise Valley of the centuries
that perhaps men are thinking about new car models
in her work in love perhaps in death
That black spot that the current drags is a carton
I thought it was a turtle thought was a drowning
and not more than one carton to your float around three sheets
as three hearts of honey three figures of autumn
Trees come out of the River as the cigar smoke
Another Dove flutters its white shade of grey water
Urinals have the cunning beauty of certain churches from Castile
I'm giving them to do something while I think
as I walk my love is saying no one in the world those leaves
Traffic lights give way to the cats to the breeze
in front of the pale day these amber lights
Last night they spoke of war always war
dead eternity of corpses foam
but not all know how freedom is sweet for example at this time
in the white car of the milkman comes behind his white beast
A girl from Israel spoke me of youth of their country
She she has no religion love Paris she loves the world
Tomorrow everyone will have the same face of bronze and will speak the same language
Tomorrow even if you do not want it general Lord Lord Lord of spectacle frames of wire and ash dealer
soon the new life the new man will lift their cities
up your bones and mine on top of the powder of Notre - Dame
The first bakery that is open, I will buy a great bread
as he did in my country only I do not now accompany my friends
and I no longer have twenty years
then I had seen all these shadows of another color
I would have whistled had dragged the memory of a brunette girl
So all those things are lagging behind
It is now more important to work for a living
Some birds start to sing the dry leaves fall
I'm going away white bridges boats River
It seems that these buildings were to fall on my head
gibosos go back to the passage of the centuries
rue du Chat-qui-Pêche makes me imagine terrible stories
But is best to continue is the alba is dawn
hands in pockets continue to pursue
Two butchers give an AX in the middle of a beef
that's not nothing fun and however I like to look at
my soul is still a little meat are in 1956
Tomorrow maybe not so perhaps no butchers or executioners
my heart a little Hangman and a little Hangman
your heart your heart will be dust water wind
for the new sunflowers
each seed like a sleeping bee
The pale day was now white yellow
some fireplaces seems to be turned
Passes a soldier with a huge suitcase
Rhombus to the gare de Lyon on their way to Egypt the death
Passes a woman biking she goes to work
When is the Sun at the height of the knees as the wheat
every day she goes to his lifetime work
It passes a truckload of cacophony of alba wine
I'm on the boulevard Saint-Germain look showcases the libraries
Someday I'm gonna get a good dictionary complete works of Rimbaud
many books is better not talk about it
There are beggars all part that looks like a child
between his head and the cement of the sidewalk there is no more than a cold blade
I have wanted to take a coffee with milk I have hunger and thirst
Yellow Dawn has a bad taste in my mouth
Paris begins to wake up because I'm not a Robinson
rather a stranger rather a ghost
rather a man who has not slept
the fall city and dawn tramp
While my love has to be looking at the summits of the Peru
or the glazed China sky
I do not know my feet get tired that's all thats all
After having loved to live the new day is beautiful
In the city and the heart burns the same flame

by Fayad Jamis

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