It
is not that
which
you think of
whether
near or far from here
like
willows and palm trees
planted
by others
who
in times of peace
are
allowed to till
limited
plots barren of weeds
as
concrete blocks.
you
would never miss
in
your daily walk
on
a hard surface
resenting
the bliss
of
those who are amiss
in
calling the shots
aimed
at your kin
at
the corner’s end
and
beginning
of
the spring
of
these dark thoughts
of
cold calculus,
recently
frozen and kept
in
wraps for you
still
in your old rags
emerging
just now
at
the start of a night
that
brings no dreams
to
a barren space
of
infinite silence
where
you place your bets
on
a dark square
where
the ball never rests…
Murat
Khoreni
2012
Translated
by Tatul Sonentz
