НОВОСТИ И ОБНОВЛЕНИЯ:

SHAMSHAD ABDULLAEV

A Propos of a Greek Photograph

Sea, insect, horse. To gaze,
torturing the eyes. Flies
were minted along the center – snuffed air. Stone,
a small mainspring, worm under hand –
untouched earthly trifle. He
fell asleep in Belaqua's pose; neither alive
nor dead. A tear,
as if a needle, catches the elusive swelling of lips
on a scorched face. Without a cry
he opened his eyes – or rather, they themselves,
for his lack of concern, surfaced from his lids. An unseeable essence
stared through the millennium
at the road sign. In the end,
not stirring, he licks drops from his lips
and feels the aftertaste of melancholy –
in God's right hand, in a dead tavern, in someone else's bed.

Translated by Darlene Reddaway

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