Translated by A. Z. Foreman - Ghazal of the Dead Boy lyrics

Every afternoon in Granada, Every afternoon: a boy dead. Every afternoon the water Sits down to talk with friends. The dead raise up their wings of moss. The winds from the clear and the cloudy skies Are two pheasants in flight through the towers, And day a wounded little child. Not a streak of a lark was left in the sky When I found you in the grottoes of wine. Not a crumb of a cloud was left in the ground When you lay drowned by the riverside. A giant of water fell on the hillside and the valley was bounding with lilies and dogs. With my hands' violet shadow, your body lay Dead on the shore: an archangel of cold.