Beautiful Dead Branches | Aylin Graves

Posted on Posted in poems

At night, putting your ear to the ground
you can sometimes hear a door slam.

At that moment, all spaces change,
all heights, distances.

One can look back with nostalgia at
the hibiscus flower, the end of winter.
The foreignness of what you no longer are.

But memory is redundant. Nothingness remains.

This empire, which had seemed to us
the sum of all wonders,
is an endless, formless ruin.

Futures not achieved are only branches of the past.

 


Source: Invisible Cities. Italo Calvino.

About the Author
Aylin Graves is a poet, writer, translator and English teacher from Ankara, Turkey. She holds a BA in American literature and an MA in education. She writes both in Turkish and English.