BÝLÍ

In the vase stands weeds
and I keep calling them flowers.
It's like all the flowers
I never gave you,
which never withered
because I never picked them for you,
never bought them.
But I gave you everything
that I could possibly give you,
everything that could be passed on
without witnesses.
Only that flower I couldn't give you.
She knows,
what we were not allowed to say to each other.
You were never mine.
You belonged to another star,
whom you held in esteem
and which you carry on your shoulder.
I hold it in high regard too.
And so now the weeds stand in a vase.
Flowers,
that I never brought to you.
Without water,
without the touch of your hands,
without a single moment
in which you would accept them.
In the evening, tiny flowers
light up from the lamp
and form a cluster of stars on the wall.
I look at them
and I tell myself,
knowing that even what never happened,
can glow after dark.
How long can something dry up,
that I never picked?
And to whom does that weed belong,
which was not yours,
and yet grew
just for you?