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Click heretranslation of De Otro Modo No Puedo Pensar by foehn
Already midnight has passed. I think about you,
I carry in my mind the images
of your body, caressed by dreams.
And I remember having read the article
about your behavior, very impressive,
in all the copies of that publication.
A little while ago, the clock ticked past one. Note:
I think of you. I can't think any other way,
nor can I taste the world
that surrounds me. Because
outside of you, I die in all the death
of the world, that lives so brightly, in you.
And maybe it is a very serious illness
that assaults me, when you and I are apart,
but you see, distance seems abnormal
when it falls between you and me, and
the absence of your voice, even of your thoughts,
snatches me away from myself.
Your hair is badly placed
when it is not flowing through my fingers.
And your neck, so long and smooth,
will never have words like those
with the rhythm of blood that pulse
against the palm of my hand, ear of my heart.
Oh, you talk to me without words!
And I hear you, without verbal comprehension.
Thinking, at the same time, of many things:
my confused past, my unknown future,
until the fires in my mind
dance like stars in the sky.
Now, here comes two o'clock, and I live in your watch,
my love. Be it three, or six, or 12 o'clock,
I am thinking of you, and when my thoughts quiet,
the sun of your being appears, and there,
in my resplendent sky, you think of me,
and I'm suddenly unable to think at all.
Go ahead, sic the comma police on me. I'll plead nolo contendere and be out in no time. As for BadNerudaville, Neruda never wrote this well, in my sometimes less than humble opinion.
I die in all the death
of the world, that lives so brightly...do you really want a comma there? Approaching BadNerudaville
The line "Your hair is badly placed/when it is not flowing through my fingers" is exquisite. I enjoyed reading this very much.