Guardian angel

A breeze, soft and warm

Beneath the tear-soaked clouds
along ancient streets I walked
alone
a house to reach, a home to find
where no rain in sadness falls.
A breeze, a kitten, soft and warm
then exposed heaven’s lamp,
illuminating field and stone,
an angel’s breath to chase the damp.

Anjo da guarda

Sob as nuvens encharcadas de lágrimas
pelas ruas antigas andei
sozinho
uma casa a alcançar, uma casa a encontrar
onde não chova tristeza.
Uma brisa, um gatinho, suave e quente
mostraram então a lâmpada do céu,
iluminando campo e pedra,
sopro de anjo perseguindo a humidade.

• (trans. F. Topa)

T.P. Wilkinson, Dr. rer. pol. writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is author of Unbecoming American: A War Memoir and also Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..