12 Hours Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

by Alexander Blok [a bespoke ‘translation' for my friend Olga Kolokolova]

When you are trapped
or driven down by people, cares or longing:
when the casket lid seems to close -
all that you want is to be able to sleep.

The city is deserted
And desperate and sick you need to go home -
your eyelashes are heavy with frost -
Stop for a moment -
listen to the silence of the night
that sound is strange -
separate and apart from the noise of daytime.

Glance with fresh eyes at the snowy streets,
the smoke of a fire,
as night waits quietly for the morning above the whitened garden -
and the sky is the cover of an open book -
you will find the soul is ready for a story from your childhood.
And in this incomparable moment
when the frost patterns the glass of the lamp but chills the blood -
love will flare up into gratitude and blessings for others.

You realize then that life is more than simply taking your fill -
that the world itself is inherently beautiful.