NYU Black Renaissance Noire Fall 2015 Volume 15.2 - Page 79

THE DAY THAT HAD NO NIGHT “It is not me who runs his tongue over his lips, when I feel my mouth fill up with sand.” Oliverio Girondo RÉVEIL “Give me your hand, dove, to climb up to your nest, they have told me that you sleep alone, I come to sleep with you” Sephardic Song (Anonymous) Night didn’t exist. We’ve known that for a while. Our hands fused together like crazy with the moon in the middle of the street. No matter how hard I try to read exacerbated dreams I can’t understand everything that was so close. Dreams, for example, of emaciated footsteps Crossing the train tracks that headed north. Silence invaded the company, but there were noises, shouts, phrases, people that crossed above us. They graphed you. They spiraled me. But we always went back against the current. What do I do if I can’t read the direction of time on the wristwatch that broke years ago? What do I do if I can only dream about scarecrows, about the company of a bed at rest? The only thing I feel in this whisper is a tower in the sea, with a balcony, tired and nostalgic. From the balcony, the heart of a woman who on the verge of loving, We tasted coffee, burning words. Shared caresses and timeless kisses with our eyes empty and unfaithful. Night didn’t exist but time stopped to mix itself with our shadows. You kept feeling, graphingly, the spiders that passed by; and I became, once again, a shell in my own smoke. explodes. The waxing moon fills up the sailors. From the balcony, I desire and further. 77 BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE Night didn’t exist because we lost our eyes. Hours passed not knowing in what voices we had danced.