Spring
(Translation and version of Vernale by
Birag Diop, 1960)
Weeping
summons
death from the scent of
lilies,
a demon from yesterday’s
perfection
tires my heart.
A little perfume
lingers on the faded
bouquet
and my heart is sad, grim
like the hearts of the
damned.
I had a beautiful dream,
today, a little love.
But like a burst bubble
my dream is fled.
