The Asphalt Poem by Ruslan Kerimov

The water on the asphalt glitters with silver,
My feet are too drenched; I will not get a sleep,
Feel cold in my kidneys and pain in my liver
My throat’s desert-dry, my despair so deep.

And veiled are the faces of those who pass by
Like phantoms, their breaths fume out in the air.
I’m scared of them, but they’re also scared,
I might be a deadlier spectre to eye.

Or else, they would pierce with their nails my carotid,
And drink a red river of blood till they’re sated,
They’d rip out my heart and offhandedly throw it
On this silver asphalt with ice-cold hatred.

And doomed to this lonely and desperate wandering,
I search for your eyes through these faces so grim,
And walking ‘cross puddles, always sullenly pondering,
I’m a demon of sorrow, of you born to dream.