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

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

I would wait, patient,
as the sewing expects
the thread to go on peacefully with the hands
to make a dress of the world and blood
woven in the serenity of the knees.

I could just hope it was today
and I would not endeavor to be further away.
But I don’t know how to wait for you.

Eyes take too long to be arms,
mouth always seems thought.
Nothing is silence, and nothing speaks.
It is moving the stillness.
The sun that 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 are 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
neither from me
I would despair.

But how would I go 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.