My Memories

 

by

 

Raquel Ilombe

(translated by Mark Andrew Holmes)

 

 

I'm getting old,
 I am getting old,
  my memories.

  I want to live and you won’t let me;
  you have to smile without a complaint.
  My soul cries loudly,
  my body is convulsed,
  it squirms and complains.

  I want to give more,
  spread my petals
  by naked lakes,
  crossing its border
  with feet rested.

  I'm getting old,
  thinking about everything that happened.