From my niche
From a saucer, maybe
From a candle burner, maybe
From an oil lamp, maybe
From tinder or paper
A lantern, maybe
The light flickers, regardless
Yellow, red and grey
Dances on the walls
Flame’s head, arrow
Murals on ceiling
Of smoke
And I cry
In my niche
I see tomorrow
Few hours later; maybe
Candle gone
Disappeared, dead
Darkness rules, again
Tens of instruments
Violins, guitars, brass
And cello with drums
Will not be visible
Will not be heard
Will not play, again
I cry
Thinking of death
Death of light, music
From my corner
From my solitude
From my niche
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem