Do not stare at me by Martin Carter

Do not stare at me from your window, lady

do not stare and wonder where I came from

Born in this city was I, lady,

hearing the beetles at six o'clock

and the noisy cocks in the morning

when your hands rumple the bed sheet

and night is locked up the wardrobe.

My hands are full of lines

like your breast with veins, lady -

So do not stare and wonder where I came from

My hands are full of lines

like your breast with viens, lady -

and one must rear, while one must suckle life...

Do not stare at me from your window, lady.

Stare at the wagon of prisoners!

Stare at the hearse passing by your gate!

Stare at the slums in the south of the city!

Stare hard and reason, lady, where I came from

and where I go.

My hand is full of lines

like your breast with veins, lady,

and one must rear, while one must suckle life.


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