I'm here
You're there
Come closer
Tonight I'm lonely
Come here
With me
I want it
The way it used to be
What is left of love?
Tell me, who will even care?
So much time has passed
I'd still meet you anywhere
Water under bridge
Evening after day
What is left of love
Here that didn't drift away?
I can remember days of sun
We knew our lives had just begun
We could do anything
We're fearless when we're young
Under the moon, address unknown
I can remember nights in Rome
I thought that love would last
A promise set in stone
I'd survive with only memories
If I could change the way I feel
But I want more than only memories
A human touch to make them real
Another day, another dream
Over the bridge an empty scene
We'd spend the weekend lost in bed
And float upstream
I don't know why we moved away
Lost in the here and now we strayed
Into a New York zone
Our promise was betrayed
I was there, caught on Tenth Avenue
You elsewhere with Culver City blues
Then and there I knew that I'd lost you
What is left of love?
Tell me, who will even care?
So much time has passed
I'd still meet you anywhere
Water under bridge
Evening after day
What is left of love
Here that didn't drift away?
Don't give me all your northern pain
Don't sell me New York in the rain
Let's leave our promises behind
Rewind and try again
What remains in time
That didn't fade away?
Sometimes I need to see
The way it used to be
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPDDNR2PCuc&feature=related
1 comment:
Vakkert, du er begavet på diktfronten Christian, ingen tvil om det. En liten bit her fra min favorittpoet:
"Poem 20"
Tonight I Can Write
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, "The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Pablo Neruda
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