Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Mario Rivero

The double

A misty brown-skinned young man
came and lay down at my side and looked at me
and I looked at him
and we were not strangers to each other

From the moment he came
he was trying to persuade me
to run away
a vagabond again
on the “Suicide road”
to rent another room in another life

Loneliness thrives in the night like a fever . . .

In the morning he waved goodbye and disappeared
that misty brown-skinned young man
who is buried in my past

To whom I was one of those that put him to death
But who often comes back
as if taking vengeance
at the limit of the night to meet with me

El Doble

El Doble

Un brumoso muchacho moreno
vino a acostarse a mi lado y me miró
y yo a él
y no fuimos desconocidos

Desde el momento en que llegó
estuvo tratando de convencerme
de que me escapara
vagabundo otra vez
por la “Carretera del suicidio” abajo
de que alquilara otro cuarto en otra vida

La soledad como la fiebre medra en la noche . . .

En la mañana agitó la mano y desapareció
aquel brumoso muchacho moreno
que está enterrado en mi pasado

Al cual yo fui uno de los que le dieron muerte
Pero que a menudo regresa
como por venganza
en el límite de la noche a reunirse conmigo
Close

The double

A misty brown-skinned young man
came and lay down at my side and looked at me
and I looked at him
and we were not strangers to each other

From the moment he came
he was trying to persuade me
to run away
a vagabond again
on the “Suicide road”
to rent another room in another life

Loneliness thrives in the night like a fever . . .

In the morning he waved goodbye and disappeared
that misty brown-skinned young man
who is buried in my past

To whom I was one of those that put him to death
But who often comes back
as if taking vengeance
at the limit of the night to meet with me

The double

A misty brown-skinned young man
came and lay down at my side and looked at me
and I looked at him
and we were not strangers to each other

From the moment he came
he was trying to persuade me
to run away
a vagabond again
on the “Suicide road”
to rent another room in another life

Loneliness thrives in the night like a fever . . .

In the morning he waved goodbye and disappeared
that misty brown-skinned young man
who is buried in my past

To whom I was one of those that put him to death
But who often comes back
as if taking vengeance
at the limit of the night to meet with me
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère