Slavko Janevski

Breakfast With Death - Poem by Slavko Janevski

He doesn't come the way you thought
from rose-coloured glaciers
with a dead stag in his arms.

Quietly he creeps out of
the sunflowers' sparks,
his eyes are golden,
his hands those of a ploughman.

We meet like friends
on an ant's trail:
Death with a primrose in his teeth,
you with a cake under your arm.

The primrose of salamader skin
the cake of sweat and sand.

He with primrose wine
you with a mouthful of cake,
both in the jaws of time.

As you lay down together
on a bed of nettles
Death's nine larks
began a lullaby.

And the warm breezes too
fell asleep under the stone.

Listen to this poem:

Comments about Breakfast With Death by Slavko Janevski

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Saturday, July 30, 2005

[Report Error]