By the fireplace
In the streets and in the squares,
And the ashes in the fire –
In the Southern seas are sinking
And the cranes are groaning, singing
to the shrimps.
Trust me, child, the dark has eaten
all the Suns.
I’m a poet, so, just trust me –
there are none.
If you want, I’ll tell you any
I can be a mask, a poet,
rain or hail.
But the fire will chase the shadows
off the walls;
And the ghosts will leave their chambers,
Anyone will kneel in silence
And will throw a purple flower
at your feet.
[This poem is my free interpretation of Alexander Block‘s “In the corner of the sofa”. The translation is by no means accurate, I just wanted to express the mood this work creates]