(Works and Days)
I’m walking on the bridge now!
“Go to hell, ” someone spills his wrath under the bridge. It must be a drowned, guess I, or it must even be the river.
I’m walking under a sky hued by the clouds now!
“Go to hell, ” someone spills his wrath behind a cloud. It must be a lightning-hit someone, guess I, or it must even be the lightning.
I’m walking along a field now!
“Go to hell, ” someone spills his wrath from an anthill. It must be an unknown hero, or it must even be the grass.
I reach home, cook my dinner, cut my forefinger.
“Go...”, it must be someone behind the door, or even it’s me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very enjoyable poem, Horatiu. Thank you for sharing