Friday, October 28, 2011

not mine

All my life to pretend this world of theirs is mine
And to know such pretending is disgraceful.
But what can I do? Suppose I suddenly screamed
And started to prophesy. No one would hear me. 
Their screens and microphones are not for that. 
Others like me wander the streets
And talk to themselves. Sleep on benches in parks,
Or on pavements in alleys. For there aren't enough prisons
To lock up all the poor. I smile and keep quiet. 
They won't get me now. 
To feast with the chosen—that I do well.

~ Czeslaw Milosz 
translated by Robert Hass 
photo by Christine de Grancy


Anonymous said...

Just found your blog.

Thanks ... the art work is fantatstic. And now i am going to spend some time reading your blog, rather than just gazing at the art.

Thanks again.