We survived
the blast, the reek of burnt
cabbage, putrid clouds, closer
than we suspected.
Your ears
went inside out. My hair blew
off. A phone rang
in a cemetery. People kissed
thorns and strangled
roses, dread
instead of buds
in the branches
Because a dream seeped
from the factory and fell
through the chain link
fence, your breath, residue
of celestial treble, mute
as you held back
your pale mystique, your
weak eyes that see the world
from its first day. Still
we were alive, treads
of your boots wrenched
from deeper shadows. though
there were codes to decipher,
pages strewn over tombs, no
lexicon to consult
but one slap of moonlight
which spelled
the one word we knew
in that country, that impossible
language.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful. Fantastic! ! I cordially invite you to read my humble contributions.