Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Giovanni Quessep

Sphinx

Happy you that don\'t look  
into the eyes of the Sphinx,  
and don\'t see that  the labyrinth of its sand  
is blue; terrible  
knowledge of a bitter life  
that the last gardens give to us.
Happy you that don\'t know  
who weaves the illusion of your tapestries,
neither who the spinner of your days is,  
vintager that gives a sad wine.  
You sing your hymn, crazy of hope,
and don\'t  know if you die or you live.

Esfinge

Esfinge

Feliz tú que no miras
los ojos de la Esfinge,
y no ves que es azul el laberinto
de su arena; terrible
conocimiento de una vida amarga
el que nos dan los últimos jardines.
Feliz tú que no sabes
quién teje la ilusión de tus tapices,
ni quién es la hilandera de tus días,
vendimiadora que da un vino triste.
Cantas tu himno, loco de esperanza,
y no sabes si mueres o si vives.
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Sphinx

Happy you that don\'t look  
into the eyes of the Sphinx,  
and don\'t see that  the labyrinth of its sand  
is blue; terrible  
knowledge of a bitter life  
that the last gardens give to us.
Happy you that don\'t know  
who weaves the illusion of your tapestries,
neither who the spinner of your days is,  
vintager that gives a sad wine.  
You sing your hymn, crazy of hope,
and don\'t  know if you die or you live.

Sphinx

Happy you that don\'t look  
into the eyes of the Sphinx,  
and don\'t see that  the labyrinth of its sand  
is blue; terrible  
knowledge of a bitter life  
that the last gardens give to us.
Happy you that don\'t know  
who weaves the illusion of your tapestries,
neither who the spinner of your days is,  
vintager that gives a sad wine.  
You sing your hymn, crazy of hope,
and don\'t  know if you die or you live.
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