What can I use to keep you?

"What can I use to keep you?" Original:

I give you sparse streets, desperate sunsets, and the moon in the wilderness.

I will give you a sad look at the lonely moon for a long time.

I give you my dead ancestors, ancestors who were sacrificed with marble in later generations.

My father's father was killed at the border of Buenos Aires. Two bullets went through his chest. He died with a beard and the body was wrapped in cowhide by soldiers.

My mother's grandfather, who was only 24 years old at that time, led 300 people to charge in Peru, and now he has become a ghost on a horse.

I give you all the insight in my book and all the masculinity and humor in my life.

I give you the loyalty of someone you never trusted.

I give you the core that I try to preserve, the core that I don't make words and sentences, the core that I don't trade with my dreams, and the core that I'm not moved by time, joy and adversity.

I will give you the memory of a yellow rose, which you saw one night many years before you were born.

I will explain your life, your own theory, your real and magical existence to you.

I give you my loneliness, my darkness and my hunger.

I tried to impress you with confusion, danger and failure.

Other poems of Borges:

1, restriction

There's a line in Verland's poem that I can't remember.

There is a street next door, and I can't walk.

There was a mirror, and I took one last look.

There is a door, and I will close it until the end of the world.

There is a book in my library.

I will never open my eyes again. I'm looking at them now.

I will be fifty years old this summer.

Keep torturing me, death.

Step 2 rain

Dusk suddenly becomes bright,

Because it is raining in Mao Mao at the moment.

Or have been forgotten. It's raining,

This is undoubtedly what happened in the past.

Anyone who hears the rain will think of it.

At that time, the fate of happiness appeared before him.

A flower called a rose,

And its wonderful bright red.

This covered the drizzle on the window pane,

Will be in the abandoned suburbs.

In a yard that no longer exists,

Black grapes on the shelf. Wet dusk,

Give me a voice, the voice I long for.

My father is back. He's not dead.