At night, I could wait,
in silence, without thinking,
for death,
making time old,
not knowing how to die.

I could wait
that from each man
wakes up a woman.
And from the shadow of a body,
the body of a shadow.

I would wait, patient,
as weavers do,
for the thread to reach to their peacefully hands
to make a dress of life and one of death
woven at their knees with serenity.

I could wait it would be today
and I would not wait to go any further away.

But I don’t know how to wait for you.

Eyes take too long to become arms,
mouth always seems thought.
Nothing is silence, nothing speaks.
It is moving the stillness.
The sun rises after the rain.
The rain that before hitting the ground
it’s already snow water.
The snow that melts against the stone.
The chest that turns to pieces.

And I have to wait for you
as if it was urgent to wait.
And I don’t know how to wait
and I have to wait immediately.
Without knowing how.

If it weren’t because I have to wait from you
what I do not expect
and also from me
I would despair

But, how would I go on without knowing why?
To look for nothing?
To find nobody’s solitude?


Montse Lopez Muley Abdhalha
(MUSSIA)


Translator’s note: original poem written in Catalan. Translated with the sole purpose of conveying its general meaning in the new language.