Eastern Night Ripens

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Eastern Night Ripens

A Fountain by the Road
A Waft of Prayer
Calm be the Hand of the Caresser
Noon Prayer
Eastern Night Ripens

  We all are time, and the years
  are not what passes by but we are…

Octavio Paz


I was sent to investigate
Persecuted and disdained
And reconciled
To lose myself along the roads
To be bound in ashes
Like a deaf dog
Like a swallowed vowel to be dumb
Not able to return the cry of pain
In dark puddles
To be picked up by the rime


And indeed I disappear
Under a glistering baking-tray

My spirit found
A new earthen hut

I was taken by someone else
and carried into unbeing


I am now a hope
That never arrives
In the dry fountain
A gurgle that never stops
A shadow of shadows from the cloud
That pours itself out
An invisible tail of Cogito and Sum
A moon without change
Without waxing or waning
And a sea
And marble solitude
An empty grave that walks
The heavens


And who knows whether I am
A vision
Or a thought-deed
That vanishes like lightning:
We are all time
Years and the primeval age
Are not what passes by
We are…

Translation: A. Taneski and G. Reid

AuthorBranko Cvetkoski
2018-08-21T17:23:59+00:00 February 1st, 1999|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 07|0 Comments