Friday, 15 March 2013

Poem by the Swedish writer
Werner Aspenström

The dogs

The night is vast.
The heavens turn in silence.
The moon sails with icy prow.
These howling dogs,
what is it they are seeking?
The one whose hackles rise,
the one that whimpers like a child,
the one who snaps up the spark
from a star – they are powerless,
their thirst cannot be quenched here.
Why then do they roam the length of valleys
and over the crater-strewn fields?
What is it they are seeking in the mountain caves
and in the abandoned cities?
Here they are only lizards with skins of leather
and stars and the night is vast
and the heavens turn in silence.

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