Ivan Dobnik - Vilenica

382 · Tatjana Komissarova
By the bonfire
It’s extraordinary,
And like a dream.
The kettle’s empty –
What’s left in the dregs?
Don’t you croak, raven,
Your song is too old.
The flames are brilliant
And the bonfire’s hot.
A train has swished past
Russet aspen trees.
Autumn’s long,
Life is fast.
On my tongue
On my tongue, like a grain of pepper,
The spicy sound of extinct speech:
I’m speaking to you from my heart –
Can you hear its soft beating?
Those half-forgotten words bring back
The taste of bread, the smell of home,
The freshness of clean clothes,
The children’s bright new faces,
And Sarah’s laughter, Riva’s quiet voice.
There is no war, and everyone’s alive.
I read you
I read you, you read me –
And the dumb dialogue lasts too long.
Like two money jobbers we change
Poems into seashells, white sand,
And green beads of Indian forest.
We change poems into grey ashes of a fire,
Into northern wind that chills my temple
And into two silences till first light.