December 2020

January 1, 2021 § Leave a comment

6th December

To strangers: Come back!
We’ll meet at the train station,
northbound or southbound,

people just again
heading to an unknown place.
Ask for directions,

or miss the same train;
we can start then talking, find
out we once lived less

than six feet apart.

———

15th December

Invisible rain,
as if going through a cloud.
On the other side

the night is waiting
in its confessional box.
Our secrets are new

only to us. We
tell them in low voice, release
them from their wordless

life of working hands.

——-

26th December

There has been no snow,
the cold has stayed in our hearts,
preserving our souls

through the long winter
that has started in a spring.
We’re not who we were,

we talk less, plan less,
certainty has left for good
our dictionaries,

a call for writers.

———

28th December

In difficult years,
they took the same decisions
every day anew:

to stand up and cook
if nobody would do it,
to live, even if

other people die,
to laugh at a joke they knew,
to forget until

there’s a chance not to.

———

29th December

And so we prepare
a fine gateway for our ghosts:
pride, illness, hate; we

light candles, burn herbs,
all gods should be satisfied
with our offerings.

What‘s next should be pure
oblivious to us fools,
what‘s next should be new,

much to burn indeed.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading December 2020 at I was not born in English.

meta

%d bloggers like this: