Two Seasons
D
Daniel Brick
0
Altın Yaprak
Everything winter is heavy
with itself. It admits no abridgement
of its length, and crushes the tender
wishes of spring. Spring is a locked room
on the second floor of a huge mansion.
The resident who locked it also lost
the key. This should have been foreseen.
Complaints are even now circulating
in the living room and dining room,
but little can be done, because of
the frozen condition of our lives.
The resident in question refuses
to show remorse, or even interest.
But a few of us crowd the warmth
of the kitchen, and vent our feelings.
We all know what is locked away
from us: Books with refrains of warm air;
pictures of tactile green fields;
a row of vases on a shelf, each of which
contains one flower aroma. And a collection
of songs written in the spring air
by composers bewildered by emotions
surging in their hearts, like unblocked streams
flowing freely in their channels. Will we be
so free? Or must we wait until spring releases us?
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş