Contur Intunecat – a translation

I am not your parent, or any of
your windows which
expose your figurines – I refuse
to sacrifice salvation.

I will not ask which I cannot give –
this residue looks heavenwards, we
shed our bitter and subjective courage.

You, and his full being, thrown in.
Inside and tangled, half-truth,
a passion play. You’ll stay on my back

Just a shade too beautiful,
covering the sun, once a cycle.
I am not your parent, untouched by poison.
For me, it rises, regardless.

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About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

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