she set the terms
of negotiations
so I left her
to do what she did best
leaving me cold
alone indifferent
I fell in love again
with another one
who couldn't love me back
sang my own forgotten opera
set the lines to the music
heard the music in my head
hung my dreams in minor keys
now I am comfortable
drinking wine at back tables
hurrying off to nowhere special
becoming a shadow to myself
well dressed in indifference
uneasy to the virtues of love
to love itself
I no longer send letters
no more poems
all the ones I write now
are like the swallows
they fly, circle
return to the nest
the books I cherished
lie unread forgotten
orphans that marked
better times
happier indulgences
she walks where she walks
between her world and the shops
I between my indifference toward love
and indifference toward life
indifferent toward the seasons
let the dark come now
let the shortness of days come
let the sun brood behind clouds
let the stars fall
go out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem