silence everywhere

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Untitled
Jaan Kaplinski
Silence is always here and everywhere;
sometimes we hear it more clearly:
on the meadows there is mist, the door of the granary is open,
far away a redwing sings and one
white butterfly wings incessantly
around the branch of an elm that
sways slightly against the background of the setting sun.
Twilight leaves everything without faces or script,
only the difference between light and dark remains —
it is just the midsummer night itself
and an old pocketwatch on the desk
suddenly starts very loudly
to tick.

Photo by Igor Flek on Unsplash

death is within

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Untitled
Jaan Kaplinski
Death does not come from outside. Death is within.
Born-grows together with us.
Goes with us to Kindergarten and school.
Learns with us to read and count.
Goes sledging with us, and to the pictures.
Seeks with us the meaning of life.
Tries to make sense with us of Einstein and Wiener
Makes with us our first sexual contacts.
Marries, bears children, quarrels, makes up.
Separates, or perhaps not, with us.
Goes to work, goes to the doctor, goes camping,
to the convalescent home and the sanatorium. Grows old,
sees children married, retired,
looks after grandchildren, grows ill, dies
with us. Let us not fear, then. Our death
will not outlive us.

Photo by Hamish Weir on Unsplash

unhappy shirts

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A Tailor Called Sorrow
Betti Alver
Yesterday in drizzling rain
on the road,
depression came
with its scissors open.

He put unhappy shirts
around the necks
of children,
and stitched black markings
on the lives of others.

Around the red faces
the tailor called sorrow
let a cloth with death silk
in it
hang,
and mingled white basting thread
in their hair.