Radio Slience

So I forgot about this poem that I found. But last night, or the other night or something I re-found it again. This time I wanted to post it all here so I wouldn't forget about it again. It's by Wislawa Szymborska, and translated from Polish. Because sometimes I tend to forget that poetry exists.


Perspective

They passed like strangers,
without a word or gesture,
her off to the store,
him heading for the car.

Perhaps startled
or distracted,
or forgetting
that for a short while
they'd been in love forever.

Still, there's no guarantee
that it was them.
Maybe yes from a distance,
but not close up.

I watched them from the window,
and those who observe from above
are often mistaken.

She vanished beyond the glass door.
He got in behind the wheel
and took off.
As if nothing had happened,
if it had.

And I, sure for just a moment
that I'd seen it,
strive to convince you, O Readers,
with this accidental little poem
that it was sad.


I'm writing a new story. Non fiction, I guess. Don't be offended if you one day appear in one of my stories.

More soon.