A bird comes to the most distant and solitary shore. <br />It drinks a little of the water <br />that becomes turbid with sand <br />and then resumes its flight, <br />it repeats a scene as ancient as the world <br />that never stopped taking place. <br />If it would stop happening even for not more than a single day, <br />no longer would music be possible nor the stars nor honey <br />nor Renoir nor the children who play with the dice <br />nor the clouds nor your hair that blows in the wind <br />nor even your eyes that expel the shades <br />every morning when you wake up. <br /> <br />(Translated by Stefan Beyst)<br /><br />Carlos Barbarito<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-bird-comes-to-the-most-distant-and-solitary-sh/
