Another one of those poems stumbled upon again in reaching for words that explain the malaise, the feeling of waiting for something and being perched on the edge of something that never quite arrives.

Moments – Julia de Burgos

Me, fatalist,
watching life coming and going
from my contemporaries.
Me, inside myself,
always waiting for something
that my mind can’t define.

Me, multiple,
as in a contradiction,
tied to a sentiment without edges
that binds and unbinds me
alternately,
to the world.

Me, universal,
drinking life
in each shooting star,
in each sterile scream,
in each sentiment without edges.

And all for what?
-To go on being the same.

Momentos
Yo, fatalista,
mirando la vida llegandóse y alejándose
de mis semejantes.

Yo, dentro de mí misma,
siempre en espera de algo
que no acierta mi mente.

Yo, múltiple,
como en contradicción,
atada a un sentimiento sin orillas
que me une y me desune,
alternativamente,
al mundo.

Yo, universal,
bebiéndome la vida
en cada estrella desorbitada,
en cada grito estéril,
en cada sentimiento sin orillas.

¿Y todo para qué?
-Para seguir siendo la misma.