Wednesday, June 12, 2019

Eliza Segiet writes

It Was the Same

There will no longer be home,
smoke from the chimney.
There will be no tomorrow.
Rotten beams
cannot withstand the pressure of time.
In the crooked house
a hunched woman
– waits.

It's like it used to be,
out there behind the house flows a river.
Only now
the children do not have time to look at old age.

Time took away youth
– like the night takes away the evening.

There is no longer smoke from the chimney,
no chimney,
and there behind the house
still flows a river.

-- tr. Artur Komoter
File:John Sell Cotman - Ruined House - Google Art Project.jpg
Ruined House -- John Sell Cotman

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