Friday, October 3, 2008


You will pass by this dark street
Looking in vain for its habitat…
Hitting the road with cinders of regret
You will only find bare sidewalks…

You will swear at each other – and solicit
God for a heaven-sent drop of crimson
To absolve all your festering sins,
To cleanse countless sores and rancor…

One will say: “With me, he was chummy,”
Another will exclaim: “He was my buddy,”
A third will claim casual knowledge
Of a dejected looking derelict.

You might murmur: “He was a sick puppy,”
Or proclaim him “A wandering Jew!”
One may claim he was lovesick, too,
Yet, no one has said: “He’s my enemy.”

And when it starts to snow blue-lit flakes,
Dreams surround you with bits of memory,
You will all rush home in a big hurry
Before your home-fires go out…

Then you’ll say: “Let the ice melt first --
Come March, we shall look for that chap…”
The years will pass, empty, relentless,
And darkness will descend on earth…

You will set a table on Good Friday,
With Holy Bread and cups of wine,
You will wait for him, you will pray,
But the Poet will be held up… on a cross.

Translated By: Tatul Sonentz

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