snow

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Snow
Vladimir Holan

It began to snow at midnight. And certainly
the kitchen is the best place to sit,
even the kitchen of the sleepless.
It's warm there, you cook yourself something, drink wine
and look out of the window at your friend eternity.
Why care whether birth and death are merely points
when life is not a straight line?
Why torment yourself eyeing the calendar
and wondering what is at stake?
Why confess you don't have the money
to buy Saskia shoes?
And why brag
that you suffer more than others?

If there were no silence here
the snow would have dreamed it up.
You are alone.
Spare the gestures. Nothing for show.

____

god wills it

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Yeah, that’s pretty intense/crazy stuff…

God Wills It
Gabriela Mistral

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Original

Dios lo quiere

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death’s secret

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Death’s Secret
Gösta Ågren
It is not true
that death begins after life.
When life stops
death also stops.

distances

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Distances
Philippe Jaccottet
Swifts turn in the heights of the air;
higher still turn the invisible stars.
When day withdraws to the ends of the earth
their fires shine on a dark expanse of sand.

We live in a world of motion and distance.
The heart flies from tree to bird,
from bird to distant star,
from star to love; and love grows
in the quiet house, turning and working,
servant of thought, a lamp held in one hand.

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

night reunites

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Night and the House
Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen
Night reunites the house and its silence
From the foundations up
To the still flower
Only the ticking of time’s clock is heard

Night reunites the house and its destiny
Now nothing is scattered nothing divided
Everything watches like the vigilant cypress

Emptiness walks in its living spaces

Photo by Erol Ahmed on Unsplash