不邀而至的晨光，
令人厭煩地擾醒了醉臥街角的我。
又一個難忘的夜。
夜總是將世界化為洶湧的波濤，
深深的藍中帶著沃土的黑色。
其中充滿著令人無限向往的不可思義。
夜喚醒了曾被深藏欲望，若存若離，半推半就。
夜的開啟，隻是一些破碎和零亂 -
跟不十分令人愉快的友人的閑聊，
半夢半真的音樂，混合著餘留的煙味兒。
我深知這一切是多麽毫無相幹。
正在這時，夜的浪湧載你而至，
伴隨的是你言語的聲音，笑聲，
和你那雖似慵懶卻令人窒息的美麗。
我們在街上漫步，
開始還在交談，再後來是的你的無語。
晨光打碎了夜的世界，
擾醒了醉臥街角的我。
我隻記得你離去的身影，你柔美無二的聲音，
和你笑時的模樣。
我醒後努力回味著你留給下的這一切。
被晨光模糊了的記憶，我又慶幸地找回了。
可此時，我能與之分享的隻有淡去的星光和街上的流浪狗。
除了記憶，僅存的是你轉身離去時留下的神密。
我的心中隻充滿著一個欲望 -
再次遇到你，認識那真實的你。
by Jorge Luis Borges
To Beatriz Webster de Bullrich
I.
The useless dawn finds me in a deserted streetcorner; I have outlived
the night.
Nights are proud waves: darkblue topheavy waves laden with all
hues of deep spoil, laden with things unlikely and desirable.
Nights have a habit of mysterious gifts and refusals, of things half
given away, half withheld, of joys with a dark hemisphere.
Nights act that way, I tell you.
The surge, that night, left me the customary shreds and odd ends:
some hated friends to chat with, music for dreams, and the
smoking of bitter ashes. The things my hungry heart has no
use for.
The big wave brought you.
Words, any words, your laughter; and you so lazily and incessantly
beautiful. We talked and you have forgotten the words.
The shattering dawn finds me in a deserted street of my city.
Your profile turned away, the sounds that go to make your name,
the lilt of your laughter: these are illustrious toys you have
left me.
I turn them over in the dawn, I lose them, I find them; I tell them
to the few stray dogs and to the few stray stars of the dawn.
Your dark rich life…
I must get at you, somehow: I put away those illustrious toys you
have left me, I want your hidden look, your real smile
—that lonely, mocking smile your cool mirror knows.
