January Day.
This winter day I can see the ocean shine from
the coast of Portugal to the Saragossa Sea; and
in the shimmer, I dare not breath lest the spell
is broken, I see Ireland too.
The Atlantic is a beast let it slumber and enjoy
the stillness, at least till my ship reaches
Port of Spain where the sea is azure and scars,
made by rusty tank-ships, heal in seconds.
I’ll cast my anchor there, in a bay ringed by
palm trees, but not stay too long; I will not like
to miss the blossoming of the almond trees, in
my hidden valley, near the village of Benafim.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem