Lá lu' Your Name

Original
Translated

Lá lu'

Ridxí ne huaxhinni, lá lu'.

Siadó', huadxí, lu gueela',

nisi lá lu' riree xieque

ndaani' bichuga íque'

sica tuuxa zeguyoo

runi biniti guendabiaani',

nisi lá lu' riree chuuchi

lu ludxe'

sica benda ndaani' ná'

ti guuze'.

Guindisa' ti gui'chi', lá lu'.

Cuaque' ti xiixa, lá lu'.

Gabati' nalu' nuaa'

cadi daabi guichi lá lu'

íque bicuini naya'

ne ratiicasi zedide'

málasi gó la'na'

guendarietenala'dxi' lú lu'

ñee xquendanabane'.

Ma yanna nga nabaana

ne huidxe mápeca saa guidxi.

Zándaca ridxí zaxhaca la'dxi'

sá' nanda huaxhinni.

Zándaca naa guibane' ti dxi

ne guirá' ca yaya xtí' xquendagute',

zapa ruá' ti nisadó' guendaricaala'dxi'

ndaani' ladxiduá' guzeete' lá lu',

zápa' rua' neca xtuudxi huiini' bi

guzayaniá' ti dxumisú birixhiaa

gusitenala'dxi' lii guendaranaxhii stinne'

sica rusietenala'dxi' laanu ne xquendayaya

dxi ma zeedadxiña xhí nisaguié.

Your Name

Day and night, your name.

In the morning, the afternoon, at dusk

only your name spins

through my head

like a man straight-jacketed

for having lost his mind;

only your name slips

over my tongue

like a fish between the hands

of a fisherman.

I lift a paper, your name.

I put something away, your name.

There is nowhere I go

that I do not have the thorn of your name

nailed to the tip of my finger

and no matter where I go,

the memory of your face silently bites

the leg of my existence.

Is is time for Lent

and May's festival is near.

Perhaps the day is fed up

with chasing the night.

Maybe one day I'll wake up

to the scandal of my death;

despite it all I'll have an ocean of sighs

in my soul, to whisper your name;

I'll undoubtedly have one last breath

capable of filling a basket with winged ants

that will proclaim the love I have,

like the commotion that announces

coming rains.

First published in World Literature Today

Original Poem by

Translated by

Shook with Shook Language

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