There is something raw in the taking,
an ordinary sadness that
blackens in the bottom of the cup.
Here a fly is swatted,
wings winking past.
There butterflies ripped from flight.
The grasshopper jerking back
legless in weeds.
Bumbles, bugs, dropped petals
stumble underfoot;
everyday coffins that ripen into insignificance
like lost chances.
Something delicate delivers itself,
need wrapped around each moment
split end to end
only to have it happen again.
Star-like and beautiful
the ant dies
crushed, and pungent.
Do we live only for this?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Kind of classic moments in time frozen - the story of growing into a world and gaining awareness. Indeed skillfully delivered. Rgds, Ivan