The distance revealed a familiar silhouette,
my eyes fled towards him and then away;
he was just sitting there... by himself,
reading something perhaps... hidden in his reverie.
He would not have spotted me but I spoke up shyly:
greeted him, asking how he was
(he went, "well" ‒ and how was I?);
his look was remarkably warm,
veiled in silent, tender kindness.
I meant to continue talking,
but was just observing
that living miracle of an instant
arrested in silence...
and invoking eternity to remain there.
'twas stifling there, I was thirsty for droplets;
disharmony was floating in the air
as she was dancing lifelessly with a strange indifference
and he was playing tentatively and meekly from experience;
certain estrangement was seeping in...
Like a floating sadness
a dead ocean with bubbles of life,
into which I made an unwanted dive,
was all around, having engulfed me,
but my fire kept burning inside...
The whiteness in which he was enveloped captured my heart;
I wanted to stay there looking for eternity,
but my fright confused me ‒
then in his eyes I glimpsed
a wee bit of a smile, a radiant shine.
There was more I was to have told him, given him,
but 'twas his melancholic lure,
that dreamy stillness in the oppressive gloom,
the power of which both attracted and frightened me
as if I was flying up as well as getting drowned.
The Still In A Storm © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Klid v bouři"
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