oscar draws a woman
with a long black hair
and light brown skin
holding a big Grey cat
her red lips are tight
as a bud
her cheeks do not
have a dimple
her eyes are blank
without a blink of an eyelid
very much like the cat that stares at you
when you steal a glance at it
i ask him if he can compromise a falling leaf
at the back of the woman
or a little red sparrow flying away from a branch
of a tree to a blue cloud nearby
at least there is a movement to feel the wind
or something to hear like the fluttering of a wing
as a matter of compromising
the smirk of mellowing sorrow
but he does not say any word
and without batting an eyelash
he puts in there
some old letters which he kept for quite a time
inside an old family trunk
a little bit blurred and
distant so i may never have
the chance of reading them again
something so sad maybe, but i think Oscar
knows what he is doing with the scar
he knows the ways of the
deep, the mysterious and the beautiful
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem