some days I wait for the fog to roll in
wait for the river to carry the clouds home
wait for the bridge to turn invisible
I walk and watch the bell tower disappear
into nothing, the world has gone into nothing
and somewhere a poet describes it as beautiful
somewhere an eye wanders; tries to match horizons
night comes in with a dagger, sits by the fire
stone clock strikes ten, then eleven, then eternity
I sit, cold bench, cold hands, cold face
warm my hands together, stare like Peter
hear the clock toll like a dying rooster
mother where has all the light gone to
father why did god turn off the city
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
pondering the imponderables, seeking the unanswerables, being a real poet! Great Ben. Rgds, Ivan