Half a face
Yet two eyes
To see what others will wonder
As if new
A heart where no secrets
Talk to each other
And on August nights
Float as Jasmine blossom in a clay pot
Hands aging and slow
Yet they have left no scars
For what they touched was touched before
And what they held was already gone
The rivers have passed
And their waters have kept
Little
June 17, 2017
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017
I was reading poems by József Attila translated from
Hungarian. The mood in many of his lines reminded me of a photo I took from the
castle of Buda. It was a foggy and cold day, the historic palace of Pest was in
a dream, and the Danube “just flowed on.”
No comments:
Post a Comment