Poem

BERLIN DAYS

Gogol’s coat (6)

I wander in Gogol’s coat tirelessly reading the bridges. I hear the chilling cold of a ghostly Europe striding widely across ice. It is cruel freedom, cold, always. You looked intently at the barks of trees last night feeling the increasing weight of your feet in your shoes. You ponder deeply on how the foliage’s debris accounts for Autumn or how mud chronicles overcast clouds. Don’t fear the ghost that asks for your coat. He is usually freezing. Think of death as a German General looking with his blue eyes at the table then hobbling away. Cruel freedom.


translated by Mona Zaki
original title: 'BERLIN DAYS

Gogol’s coat (6)'




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