the calligrapher of suffering
Oct 13th, 2009 by vasgar
days as if I were awaiting a shipwreck
an existence overwhelmed by dilemmas,
used up pointlessly
I’m silent and know it’s a guilty silence
for a long time no one has looked me up
I am alone – with the forbidden urge –
alone among books and things which
now insinuate themselves even more suggestively
and they too seemingly await tenderness
I hear someone loitering on the street
walking unhurried – the footfalls have
a low, conspiratorial echo
as ever I salvage myself using my imagination
I tell myself that it’s Kafka – suffering’s calligrapher –
on a walk through Chisinau
sad and alone Kafka loitering
in a world that long ago humbled its existence
Translated by Alistair Ian Blyth
