After translating five poems
by Charles Simic and writing
four, I pull back the curtains
and no Sun but overcast sky
of clouds the colour of snow
spreading undulating across
the valley to the ridge, you
could paint the landscape
with black, gray and white
alone. I go to the kitchen,
warm a pizza and a pie,
eat them watching videos
from Wafa News Agency,
start posting in the gray, pale
light of the day stretching
like the fields of snow
towards the coming dusk,
the starless night.
10.02.2025
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