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Ballad of the Moon

নর্দমার রাত, হিরন্ময় তাঁত

Ballad of the Moon ------------------------------------------------------------------ Federico García Lorca (1898 - 1936) The moon came into the forge in her bustle of flowering nard. The little boy stares at her, stares. The boy is staring hard. In the shaken air the moon moves her arms, and shows lubricious and pure, her breasts of hard tin. "Moon, moon, moon, run! If the gypsies come, they will use your heart to make white necklaces and rings." "Let me dance, my little one. When the gypsies come, they'll find you on the anvil with your lively eyes closed tight. "Moon, moon, moon, run! I can feel-heir horses come." "Let me be, my little one, don't step on me, all starched and white!" Closer comes the the horseman, drumming on the plain. The boy is in the forge; his eyes are closed. Through the olive grove come the gypsies, dream and bronze, their heads held high, their hooded eyes. Oh, how the night owl calls, calling, calling from its tree! The moon is climbing through the sky with the child by the hand. They are crying in the forge, all the gypsies, shouting, crying. The air is viewing all, views all. The air is at the viewing. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- translated by Will Kirkland

অনলাইনে ছড়িয়ে ছিটিয়ে থাকা কথা গুলোকেই সহজে জানবার সুবিধার জন্য একত্রিত করে আমাদের কথা । এখানে সংগৃহিত কথা গুলোর সত্ব (copyright) সম্পূর্ণভাবে সোর্স সাইটের লেখকের এবং আমাদের কথাতে প্রতিটা কথাতেই সোর্স সাইটের রেফারেন্স লিংক উধৃত আছে ।