We have done what we wanted.
We have discarded dreams, preferring the heavy industry
of each other, and we have welcomed grief
and called ruin the impossible habit to break.
And now we are here.
The dinner is ready and we cannot eat.
The meat sits in the white lake of its dish.
The wine waits.
Coming to this
has its rewards: nothing is promised, nothing is taken away.
We have no heart or saving grace,
no place to go, no reason to remain.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Валерий Брюсов – К портрету К.Д. Бальмонта
- A Writer’s Pen by Sahiti Siddharth
- Иннокентий Анненский – Еврипид. Ион (перевод)
- Ольга Берггольц – Сестре
- Orlando Furioso Canto 19 by Ludovico Ariosto
- The Sea And the Hills by Rudyard Kipling
- Let me Count the Poets Left by Michael K. Shiu
- Hyperion. Book III poem – John Keats poems
- Grief by Philip Larkin
- Study in Hands by Théophile Gautier
- Владимир Костров – 1380 год
- Last Sonnet poem – John Keats poems
- Владимир Корнилов – Женщины
- Give Me Strength by Rabindranath Tagore
- Алексей Николаевич Толстой – Весенний дождь
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
