We are born and our bodies are clothed in names,
Someone lays us in a name-shell,
Then they engrave on the white marble,
On a stone bust something like:
Caesar
or Brutus.

Give me a name...

A far-off, distant name... then a near-by one.
May they be Siamese twins.
Have you forgotten?
You say Kruja
And you hear Cartagena.

Names are born, they grow and perish.
Names, fall in love, like people,
And in their love-making pierce the skin
of one another.

Did you call out Othello?
The answer will be: Desdemona.

Give me a name...

Names melt and liquify on our lips,
Like strawberries and grapes.
Covered in their mould, you unwillingly
lick your fingers.

Give me a name...

That I may be for you,
Like the vital force in a drop of blood,
That you venture forth on me
as you would on a road.

In my body you have sown
Wars and virtue,
Wounds and tombs.

Give me a name...

That I may soar like Icarus
Inside a teardrop.