Monday, November 21, 2005

To a Cat

I wish I could turn you into a cat. A big white fluffy cat with blue eyes that would purr when I stroked his arched back.
Could you be a cat already, haunting me with your glossy looks, and then running away? I could chase but I don't dare, you see, cats frighten me a little. Sometimes you silently come close and brush you dreamy fur by my thigh, and it seems to me you're no more than lines of a long forgotten poem that to came to life. I remember and I wish I could just reach out and poke your closed world, wake you up from your blue dreams and make you mine.
But even then, can anyone really own a cat?

Jorge Luis Borges::To A Cat

Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering caress of my hand.
You have accepted, since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.


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