Author: Jorge Luis Borges

Oh days devoted to the useless burden Of putting out of mind the biography Of a minor poet of the […]

If I could live again my life, In the next – I’ll try, – to make more mistakes, I won’t […]

With lingering love she gazed at the dispersed Colors of dusk. It pleased her utterly To lose herself in the […]

Of all the streets that blur in to the sunset, There must be one (which, I am not sure) That […]

Throughout the course of the generations Men constructed the night. At first she was blindness; Thorns raking bare feet, Fear […]

To gaze at a river made of time and water And remember Time is another river. To know we stray […]

We are the time. We are the famous Metaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure. We are the water, not the hard […]

Free of memory and of hope, Limitless, abstract, almost future, The dead man is not a dead man: he is […]

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 […]