Zbornik Mednarodnega literarnega srečanja Vilenica 2004 - Ljudmila

Artjom Kavalevski
A Visit in Winter
My home smells of old cinnamon,
Green lemon peel
And the winter draft from the windowsill
So it is today, at least.
My hand unwarmed feels the space –
Your hair like on a snow-covered field waves.
Without wanting it so I feel not the presence
Of our absent conversations in this humble room.
Our actions defiant will become,
So it seems, only in centuries to come.
Go, the ceramic mugs, full to the brim
Have already gone cold, frosty.
The words of farewell have become so transparent
Holding on to a handful of desire’s last fragments.
...and we shall lead a quiet life
Take an axe: we’re going to the forest,
Build a cabin with logs.
We shall lead a quiet life
As little owls in a short summer night
As strange gnomes
As thifty mice,
As patient snails,
As green horsetail,
As scurrying squirrels,
As hunched robber-flies,
As nimble snakes
Or, rather,
As shapeless lichens.
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