Paul Archer - photo Paul Archer - poet, translator



There are words

There are words that burn when spoken
that drag the listener to the fires of hell
that are bullets, daggers, threats,
that besmirch all they touch, that hurt.

There are words that open a chasm,
that can lift you through the air,
that can provoke a murderer,
that serve as the preamble to a suicide.

There are words that last a whole day
that fit into a quarter of a second
that can destroy the innocent
and make even the most sane lose their bearings.

There are words that deceive, that corrupt
that defile your life forever,
that are installed on forbidden sites,
that hide away and haunt your dreams.

There are words that wait to be said,
that have an unknown fate,
that end up in the mouth of a coward,
that kill the brave person that speaks them.

There are words without letters or phonemes,
words that are silent, that do not exist,
that freeze time, that paralyze,
that shatter silences, that laugh.

There are words made out of blood and misery,
words that betray the telling of lies,
words that want to last for ever, but die,
words that are blown away by the wind, but return.

English translation by Paul Archer of 'Hay palabras' by Conchi da Silva.

Hay palabras

Hay palabras que queman al decirlas
que arrastran al que escucha a los infiernos
que son balas, puñales, amenazas,
que ensucian cuando pasan, que lastiman.

Hay palabras que abren una sima,
que pueden elevarte por los aires,
que pueden provocar a un asesino,
que sirven de preámbulo al suicida.

Hay palabras que duran un día entero
que caben en un cuarto de segundo
que pueden destruir a un inocente
y hacer perder el Norte hasta al más cuerdo.

Hay palabras que engañan, que corrompen
que profanan tu vida para siempre,
que se instalan en sitios prohibidos,
que te acosan en sueños y se esconden.

Hay palabras que esperan a ser dichas,
que tienen un destino insospechado,
que acaban en la boca de un cobarde,
que matan al valiente que las dice.

Hay palabras sin letras ni fonemas,
palabras que son mudas, que no existen,
que congelan el tiempo y paralizan,
que revientan silencios, que se ríen.

Hay palabras de sangre y de miseria,
palabras que delatan al que miente
que quieren ser eternas y se mueren,
que se las lleva el viento, pero vuelven.

Listen to Conchi da Silva reading her poem 'Hay palabras'.

For more translations of poems by Conchi da Silva, go to Translations.

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