contentment tortures brilliance:
ants in a well grow moody in the light
after falling into the ashes
moving one's arms until the horror is beaten
will you need them or love them?
the exit bids farewell to itself
the fruit of oblivion gathers dew
and the smell of souls is cold
breathing them in delivers quiet
interrupted by the murmuring tea
dreams of adventure are censured
disavow sleep to forget life's rhapsody
Translator's Note: I thought Dima was heavy when sits in my lap, but this poem is heavier than his bodily mass. Until now, I thought he was feigning depression, but perhaps I'll have to do something to cheer him up or submit him to a psychiatric clinic.
No comments:
Post a Comment