Translated by Elizabeta Bakovska
Love dies,
as a dying man
it falls ill, lies, ails
looks for a cure, hopes
gets better and gets worse again
it can get sick suddenly
or the illness slowly progresses
and before the very end, usually
it raises to its feet and stands up
to shine with all of its force
from its good times
it looks as if healed
and then it dies, it vanishes
finally and completely
eventually,
the man who carried it
buries it inside himself
and mourns it
Almost all of us
carry inside
a graveyard like this