english
Ealaghol: Dà Shealladh
Choimhead mi an t-seann cairt-phuist,
na taighean mar fhàs às an talamh,
na h-aonaichean nam baidealan os an cionn,
nan comharra air mòrachd Dhè,
mus d’ rinneadh goireas de bheanntan,
no sgaradh eadar obair is fois,
eadar an naomh is an saoghalta….
is shìn mi chun a’ bhodaich i.
“Eil sin cur cianalas ort, a Lachaidh?”
dh’fhaighnich mi, ’s e na thost ga sgrùdadh.
“Hoi, òinseach, chan eil idir!
’s e cuimhne gun aithne a bh’ agam oirre-se,”
is stiùir e ri bò bha faisg oirnn san deilbh,
“Siud a’ Leadaidh Bhuidhe, an dàrna laogh aig a’ Leadaidh Bhig – dh’aithnichinn, fhios agad, bò sam bith
a bhuineadh dhan àite sa rim bheò.”
So much anxiety
The computer. The chat, all the lonely people.
What is this I feel? I dreamt I stained the sheets while we were fucking.
An old couple was staring at us. I know where my wound is.
But you were exhausted. You had long hair like a wild animal.
You, I don't know who you are.
But you were there, with your Indian torso,
your Californian surfer hip. I was looking at you,
sitting by that pair of old ourselves,
we were lost in the body of Buda
dreaming of us.
I looked at you and saw the little red ruby alive as sex
laid down at your white feet, on white sheets laid out.
Me, who was I?
A lysergic fairy with a geisha education and the attitude of a rolling stone.
The tip of my tongue on your body's tip. A room full of toys,
Even the furry handcuffs, oil lamps.
No hay banda
No hay banda
This is also an illusion but it feels so real.
There's no more angel night and the future has been told:
You will not bite the hand that caresses.