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The Sound of Poetry...

Oscar A. Bachoir


… A dove, a dove that goes flying and gets away in the afternoon,
that gets away so much, so much that my sight doesn't reach it…

I have been denied the smell and the lighten colors of my yellow
flowers and even the geraniums in the dawns of autumn, have remained
without dew.
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…It's the dove that gets away, the dove that gets away in the
afternoon, the dove that gets away farther, so much that my sight
doesn't reach it…

I have remained entirely alone in the afternoon, alone in the
sunset, without horizons, without valleys or trees, without birds or
the wind (even though I am the wind). I just know that I have
remained alone, entirely alone in the afternoon, alone, alone, alone.

…It's the dove that gets away, the dove that gets away in the
afternoon, the dove that gets away farther, so much that my sight
doesn't reach it…

My cosmic and sidereal force is coming down, and my invisible
chains don't reach till the blue sky. My happiness has been eclipsed
and my etereo-invisible body is breaking loose!

…It's the dove that gets away, the dove that gets away in the
afternoon, the dove that gets away farther, so much that my sight
afternoon, the dove that gets away farther, so much that my sight

The dove!


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