Woodridge Playset Directions

Lovers ... Jaime Sabines

The lovers say nothing.
Love is the finest silent, the more shaky
, the more unbearable.
The lovers are looking
The lovers are those who leave,
ones who change, who forget.

Their hearts tell them that they will never find
not find, seek.
Lovers
wander around like crazy because they are lonely, lonely, lonely,
surrendering, giving themselves all the time,
crying because they do not save love.

They worry about love.
The lovers live for the day, they can not do more, do not know. They're going
,
always somewhere.
hope,
expect nothing but hope.

know that they will never find.
Love is the perpetual deferment, always the next step
, the other the other.
The lovers are the insatiable,
who always - that good! - Have to be alone.
The lovers are the serpent in the story.

have snakes instead of arms.
veins
necks swell like snakes too suffocating.
The lovers can not sleep because if you sleep
be eaten by worms.
In
dark eyes open and falls into them with terror.
find scorpions under the sheet
and their bed floats as though on a lake.

The lovers are crazy, just crazy,
no God and no devil.
Lovers
out of their caves trembling, starving,
chasing phantoms.
They laugh at people who know everything,
of which love forever, truly,
those who believe in love
as inexhaustible lamp.

The lovers play at picking up water,
tattooing smoke, at staying.
play the long sad game of love.
No one has resigned.
say that nobody has to resign.
The lovers are ashamed to reach any agreement.
Empty, but empty from one rib to another,
death ferments them behind the eyes,
and they go, they weep toward morning
in the trains and roosters wake into sorrow.

sometimes I get a scent of newborn earth,
women who sleep with their hand on their sex,
pleased,
to gentle streams, and kitchens.
The lovers start singing a song from lips
not learned
and go crying,
beautiful life.

Jaime Sabines (Tuxtla Gutierrez, Chiapas, March 25, 1926 - Mexico City, March 19, 1999) Let