Luciérnagas (fireflies)

[I’m trying to finish a paper, meaning all time not spent in painful gestation feels guilty. With super storms, the unfolding tragedy of our bedraggled reef and a certain wobbliness on the personal front, sometimes things seem a little bleak. This poem, by Gioconda Belli, is one of my favourites, offering bite-sized glimmers amongst the black. The translation is a little clumsy, but I hope the feeling remains]

Capturing the light, the oldest profession?
(stolen from myreikilife.blogspot.com/)

At five in the afternoon,
When the light loses its brilliance
And the garden is submerged in the day’s last golden glow
I hear a noisy group of children
Going out to hunt fireflies

Running on the grass
They spread out between the bushes
Squeal their excitement, clap their wonder
Create a circle around the smallest.
She holds out the glowing cave of her hands,
Twinkling

It’s an ancient vocation
This desire to extinguish a blaze

Do you remember the last time we believed we could light up the night?

Time has emptied us of that bright fever
But the darkness
Is still full of fireflies

Posted in crossed cultures, fiction Tagged with: , , ,

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