A bug is on the table
The table is on the ship
The ship is on the river
The river of the Elb.
It sails through the waters
That keep erode the earth…
Do they know the boarders
That they baldly cross?
Do they feel it?
Sense it?
Where their blood (or flesh)
Is no longer German
But here belongs to Checks?
Will they ever bother
What language’s used for them?
If they ever know
that they have a name?
The witness of the history -
Of changing rules and names –
They keep so silent
(feels like mystery)
Flowing their way…
As if the time is taken
Together with them,
Washed away by warters,
The waters of the Elb.
There are no boarders,
No names
and no time
But there is still the RIVER
Not yours
or mine…
The river
© Copyright: Наталья Шувалова, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105100901636
Свидетельство о публикации №105100901636
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