I.
clandestine smiles and glances
meander to the little cinema
and from its tiny yellow kiosk
they buy a dream and tickets
for a shilling
tonight, their night seems so certain
and their tomorrow 's half-whispered
II.
her white ribbons and her scent
the modesty of her startled dawn
her silver cross and bracelets
mimosa blossom and yellow sands
cyclamens and a sun-drenched valley
cerulean seas and the smell of brine
'you' she whispers in the moment
of her timid sunrise, beyond the words
of pious priests and sombre masters
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
New in 2019? Another of the voluminous identities of that conniving old bag.