Dust fogs eclipse the books on shelves.
It always happens at dusk.
I look back, at diaries never to open them again.
Pages of scripts which know I have decided to close them,
stare back at me
vacantly again.
All that I am resolved to do now
is to collect the piles and put them away,
somewhere away, where even a cat will not go
attracted by the dusty smell and
the memory that once it was her hiding place
on sultry summer afternoons.
It always happens at dusk.
I look back, at diaries never to open them again.
Pages of scripts which know I have decided to close them,
stare back at me
vacantly again.
All that I am resolved to do now
is to collect the piles and put them away,
somewhere away, where even a cat will not go
attracted by the dusty smell and
the memory that once it was her hiding place
on sultry summer afternoons.
Cărțile mele stau în saci.
ReplyDeleteOdată cu moartea mamei mele, ele nu și-au mai găsit
locul în casă.
Nu știu încă ce soartă vor avea.
Uneori mă gândesc la ele cu tristețe...
Unori mă gândesc cu speranță și bucurie...
Dintre toate lucrurile din lumea aceasta
cel mai mult am iubit cărțile...
Muțumesc pentru acest poem.
My books are in bags.
ReplyDeleteWith my mother's death, they have not found one yet
the place in the house.
I do not know yet what fate they will have.
Sometimes I think about them sadly ...
Sometimes I think with hope and joy ...
Of all the things in this world
I most loved the books ...
@Sem Xtz
ReplyDeleteDeeply sorry to learn about this. I can understand the grief. Do not lose spirit. I am sending healing thoughts from here. I completely understand how you feel. I am with you, dear friend. Think about them with joy and hope. Your mother is in the loving hands of God. There is no more suffering and pain.