Bloggence, Cunning, Exile

Hikmet on Living

This earth will grow cold, a star among stars
and one of the smallest,
a gilded mote on blue velvet --

I mean this, our great earth.

This earth will grow cold one day.
not like a block of ice
or a dead cloud even

but like an empty walnut it will roll along
in pitch-black space.

You must grieve for this right now
-- you have to feel this sorrow now --

for the world must be loved this much
if you're going to say "I lived"...
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
From "On Living" by Nâzým Hikmet, written in prison February 1948,
translated by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk

posted by E. Heroux @ 4:58 PM