TULIPS IN PRAYER

(translated by Karin Pečnikar)

The bread still waits on the table,

the chair is whipped clean.

Tulips still pray in the vase

for a happy end – I suppose, their own.

Still.

For the end.

Outside, spring rain is falling –

into December. Eternal December.

If anything grows – it is condemned

in the bud.

Why can’t I

comprehend this?