Yekta - 1.1

cloud of wings
slap of the sun fleetingly reflected
by a window that is closing
thus the thought flees away

the ashtrays didn’t speak

in the sickly bush of crossed out drafts
no image waiting to be picked
no lamp with a blackened glass globe
that would suddenly shine stroked
by some fingers crooked like roots

so I wonder tonight
if something
a sudden rage of the earth
in front of the plots of glass fomented
to get rid of the favours of heaven
those flecks of cosmic dust
fallen on our towns
amassed in our gutters
that would reveal a flaw in elementary physics
a secret law of human psyche
I wonder tonight whether any accident
could allow the shower
to wipe me out like the child’s drawing
on the door of the dustbin location
to crease me like a cloth
on the chipped tiled floor of a tenantless balcony

and it is to fool the wind
to save my existence
that skating on the mirrors of the rain
my burglar’s diamond sole
cuts up ways to the glows
that stream in the deep of nights

Translation by Jean-François Sené