Rose Poem by Natalka Bilotserkivets

It's time to pack your bag and go.
You don't know what to take - something easy
to carry; everything you'd possibly need,
instantly found.

Two or three brushes, soap and a towel.
Clean underwear, just in case your lover
meets you - or God. Either way,
you should have clean underwear.

In a secluded place, among weeds
of a dense, heavenly forest, I'll meet a rose.
Like Blake's symbol of delicate mysticism -
the rose who loves the worm.

Having allowed him into her alluring womb,
she trembles, hidden, to avoid me,
and all poetry - a shame, a bore,
oh, poor flower, lovely, dear . . .

Translation: 2002, Dzvinia Orlowsky