Isilda Nunes is a Portuguese award-winning writer and
artist. Recently she won among other recognitions, the Intercontinental World
Poetry Prize “Kairat Dusseinov Parman”, the World Prize “Cesar Vallejo 2020”
for Literary Excellence, the “Grito de Mujer Lisbon 2021 Award”, the “Aguila de
Oro” for Literary and Artistic Excellence, “Escudo del Plata, “Especial
Lusofonia”, “Latinoamericano ├а la Difusion Educativa, Liter├бria e Cultural 2021
Award” and “I Premi Lido Dell’Anima Mihai Eminescu 2022” She has poems
translated into English, Spanish, Hindi, Serbian, Polish, Bengali and Mandarin
and edited in India, Bangladesh, Poland, Serbia, Brazil, Peru, Croatia, Greece,
Republic of Seychelles, United States, Turkey, New Zealand and China. She is
co-author of about fifty national and international anthologies and solo books
of poetry and prose, such as novels, short stories and manuals.
She has organized and participated in various national
and foreign festivals and events.
1- OF YOU NOTHING REMAINS
Of you, nothing remains except the silence
perched in the farewell antechamber.
Inert, glacial, incisive
hovers in the penumbra
of sunset.
Anemic chalice spilled
on the yellowish towel,
of desuded repast.
The imminent almost, prophesied
in the evocative amnesia of us,
echoes insistent,
annoying,
purging spectres
in the saline footsteps of the fatum.
What has become of us?
Where have we forgotten?
From me,
in alienation,
I know myself lost.
Of you,
I glimpse nothing
than silence.
Cold, cutting, implosive,
perched in the farewell antechamber.
2- THE LAST TRAIN
Of us, only the pain remains,
which gnaws at my soul.
Where does the scent of jasmine hover?
Where does the announced spring live?
Today, the corpse of me
survives in the disarray of emotions.
Translucent dust
volutes in the dug cracks,
on the lacerated face
on the tortured body.
At the hands of pseudo-love,
the sacred feminine outraged.
The scourged flesh.
The inert soul, in the induced shortcut.
At the curve of the road,
the last train
appeals to detachment.
And you?
Coldly you crush the cigarette.
Gratitude
ReplyDeleteStrong poems!
ReplyDelete