Federico Garcia Lorca Quote
The Poet Asks His Love to WriteVisceral love, living death,in vain, I wait your written word,and consider, with the flower that withers,I wish to lose you, if I have to live without self.The air is undying: the inert rockneither knows shadow, nor evades it.And the heart, inside, has no usefor the honeyed frost the moon pours.But I endured you: ripped open my veins,a tiger, a dove, over your waist,in a duel of teeth and lilies.So fill my madness with speech,or let me live in my calmnight of the soul, darkened for ever.
Federico Garcia Lorca
The Poet Asks His Love to WriteVisceral love, living death,in vain, I wait your written word,and consider, with the flower that withers,I wish to lose you, if I have to live without self.The air is undying: the inert rockneither knows shadow, nor evades it.And the heart, inside, has no usefor the honeyed frost the moon pours.But I endured you: ripped open my veins,a tiger, a dove, over your waist,in a duel of teeth and lilies.So fill my madness with speech,or let me live in my calmnight of the soul, darkened for ever.