Jacob Rhodes
inglés
Enemigues
La pilota i la sabata
fa temps què són enemigues.
No voldrien jugar juntes
i sempre hi ha de jugar.
L’una rep les patacades,
l’altra malmet la puntera;
no hi ha més jocs, per a elles,
que aquell de botre i picar.
A la vida tot s’acaba...
i ve el moment que es fan velles.
Després d’estar abandonades
En algun racó polsós,
es retroben dins la panxa
d’un camió de deixalles,
camí dels abocadors:
-Hola, pilota aixafada!
-Hola, sabata esbotzada!
-Fa molt de temps que no et veia;
no tens ganes de jugar?
-Prou que ho faria sabata,
si aconseguien inflar-me;
però i tu?
-Jo no puc moure’m
sense el peu que em fa xutar.
Han callat. Semblen amigues;
no en treuran res de renyir.
Al pas del temps, les baralles
sovint acaben així.
De: El meu món de poesia
Vilanova i la Geltrú: El cep i la nansa, 2011
Producción de Audio: El cep i la nansa
Enemies
The ball and the shoe
have been enemies for quite some time.
They do not want to play together
and one or the other is always there for just that.
One is always getting kicked,
and the other’s toecap keeps getting bent.
There aren´t any other games left for them, however,
than this constant bounce and kick.
In life everything comes to an end…
and the moment arrives when they grow old.
After being left abandoned
in some dusty corner,
they reunite in the binman’s lorry,
last station: the tip.
-Hello, squashed ball!
-Hello, knackered shoes!
-It’s been a long time since I last saw you;
do you feel like playing?
-Oh how I’d love to, shoe,
if only they could reinflate me;
and yourself?
-I can’t move myself
without my foot to help me shoot.
They fell silent. They could almost pass for friends;
nothing else left for them to fall out over.
Over the course of time, rivalries
usually come to this sort of end.