vision

Par la force d'une cuisson mutuelle
les ingrédients deviennent amers et vieux,
La chaleur coagule les liquides ;
Qui sont comme des poussières sur une fenêtre éclairée,
Devenu "cendre morte", je serai uni au silence suprême.

Feb 11

***

And it seemed to me that there were fires
Flying till dawn without number
And I never found out things - those
Strange eyes of his - what colour?

Everything trembling and singing and
Were you my enemy or my friend,
Winter was it or summer?

―Anna Akhmatova

via mythologyofblue


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