The Inferno
L
Leo Yankevich
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I open my window to the flames
and again: the smell of ice and snow
older than the joy of loneliness.
And again: those beautiful black birds,
the rooks, waiting for bits of stale bread
while three storeys high, I cast them spells.
And again: the harsh coughs of gamblers
and visionary loons limping to kiosks,
and the curses of sobering drunks.
And again: the smoke of burning coal
wed to the melancholy rumour
of faintly pealing cathedral bells.
And again: those eternal grey skies,
prostrating, still praying upside down…
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş