Poems from Carlos Calatayud
O Afghanistan,
After thirteen years of fray,
You sent us back home.
But did we return too late?
Or should we have stayed longer?
Should one be guilty of awful sin caused by lass who tortured him?
For if I was left tortured then a guilty spirit, I am not.
O, how I...
The spirits call me
In the blackest of the night;
They will ne’er return to me!
Like the reddest rode
And also like petrichor,
Your scent is lovely.
The lark starts singing
Next to my window lattice,
I start to wake up.