Nocturne
de George Bacovia(2004)
1 min lectură
Mediu
I\'m stuck here ... and the slush drips, water, mud ...
To know nothing again, there\'d be one method -
A gas lamp\'s in the throes, it\'s there, it\'s not there, -
An alcoholic crosses the dismal square.
Soaked in the heavy dampness the town sleeps.
Between these walls she too sleeps, perhaps, -
Houses of iron in brick houses,
And the heavy doors close.
Upstairs the quiet humming of a piano;
Struck like a gloomy sack in the clouds, my shadow -
Drops spurt,
It\'s snowing slops,
From a window, in a vase,
A yellow rose looks down..