MASKS

I hear your name
carried by wind from a distance ,
in this chilly morning sneaking
dripping through the fingers of fall .

I hear something like violin moaning
through the wind from afar ,
now when we took off the masks ,
and irretrievably farewell the night,
Turning off the candle flame .

Calmed in slight inclination
After the third act ,
now when all the curtains are down ,
frozen fingers turn the pages of the book .
In this sneaking morning
dripping through the fingers of fall .

Down the sodden street after the rain
I hear a voice carried by wind .

I hear you talking! ...
something incomplete ...
And yet it is the morning ,
Our exquisite masks ,
cast off within reach,
We are stopping , we pause, numb ,
having finished acting in the play .

And yet , the morning it is !
Covered with silence we disappear
into the bark of the yellow dog
Staring up in the moon ,
and into one lonely star .

I hear the echo of the steps
throughout this chilly morning denounced
silently sneaking ,
dripping through the fingers of fall.


Translation with assistance of Beatrisa Stosic