Author: Jorge Luis Borges

A tiger comes to mind. The twilight here Exalts the vast and busy Library And seems to set the bookshelves […]

Mirrors are not more silent Nor the creeping dawn more secretive; In the moonlight, you are that panther We catch […]

in these red labyrinths of London I find that I have chosen The strangest of all callings, Save that, in […]

Oh destiny of Borges To have sailed across the diverse seas of the world Or across that single and solitary […]

Was there a Garden or was the Garden a dream? Amid the fleeting light, I have slowed myself and queried, […]

When sorrow lays us low For a second we are saved By humble windfalls Of the mindfulness or memory: The […]