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.

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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