Song of silent death
They ask: "Are you sorry
when you are given the song?
We accept
this silent death.
Humbly, we love
our death."
Clock: rose, sand,
rose, desert. Afterwards?
Fear of the lost one who looks
at the western light.
Wall of the night: scarcely
the murmur of wings
high up in the air, a dream
already prisoner. I walk
followed closely by footsteps
in the snow.
And I feel how the silent
death of men takes away
my gift of words:
my pain becomes
pure silence.
Autor(es): Salvador Espriu, Raimon
