El poeta Halley traducción al Inglés

You'll catch me in mid-air
Never against the wall
And if you let me breath
In your lines I will sleep
Words from a muse
On maternity leave

Maybe they'll know me really well at last
If my quirks were grey dots
Every defect I made
Tracing them with a pencil
You'd see my face on the paper in the end

Because
I'm around here again
Combing my store
For that weak shy word
I hope I find a way
I better
I have a song to finish

If it never appears,
Or if I know I didn't get the right word
And when I finally find it, that mire of doubts arrives
If you stop me when I've made my mind up,
You always squeeze me right here and say
No, my loyal treacherous inspiration
When you appear, I am less
And I am

You will fall asleep,
What a surprise
My geniuscide is worse w
When I don't let you speak
In life's motorway
If you miss the slip road, you must wait

I might be
Have learnt to accept
That squadrons of Judeo-Christian morals
With their guilt
Will follow us through land, air
And, above all, for loving

I might be
Slowing down the action
At twelve o'clock I had a dream in which I won,
But sleep got the better of me
Since then my defeats are the footprints
Of a certain I's ID card

Listen to me now
I have found the right word
You better get ready
It's got something that scares everyone
Yes, I am going to release it
I want to release it

I will pronounce 'hope'
I will shout it inside me if needed
I'll write it a thousand times, I'll turn away from my back,
Perhaps by repeating it, there'll be something left
I can't allow your refusal
My loyal treacherous inspiration
With sporadic appearance
Like an angel found in a lift
You work so well as a memory

I give shelter
To words I've found cast off in my wasteword basket
I search each cage and there
Barking vowels and consonants
I find soiled verbs
Which are crying after being deserted
By a subject that was once their owner
and as believing as he was,
dispensed with the predicate.

Only this week
They found a couple of deranged adjectives
to three adverbs dead of cold,
And the same amount of the pronoun race
In their cages, dreaming
Of being a child's shadow

Those words
Living as strays for longer get called
and I take them home,
the rabies vaccines and the combs my way,
As if they were my only daughters
Because all of them are really unique

Right after
And before enrolling them in a nursery for stories or songs
I give them an inky kiss
And tell them that if they want to get some respect
They should never forget the accent marks in the playground

Sometimes I make my words wear
Coloured hairband-looking umlauts
And I only watch them play in a poem's playground

Almost always, they leave you too soon
and you hear them on other people's mouths,
And are pleased and get angry with yourself
As with everything we love in a selfish way

And you stay at home
Lifeless and a little bit empty
Caressing that voiceless term called silence
Always loyal, always with you

But everything is a fact of life
As the poet Halley said to me once
If words are attracted to each other
Let them get together
And go shine
That's two syllables