TEXT 4 Z 14
KLIC K TOBE
Mesicnik: Tak tebe tizi jak
vypadam, jenze jak se ti popsat? Stejne
I wrap myself in beautiful words. Well then, I will
send you at least a photo.
O Sun, Sun – why do you not speak to me?
Do you perhaps not like me – eyes like two chestnuts,
Mouth of a tiny violet flower – that you know a prettier one?
And so my nose is romantically dreamy,
Along my chin two mountain torrents of childish whiskers
Babble, just like a kitten's fur upon my chest
That softly whispers of Love when I snap my fingers
And hide my belly in a palm that chills.
My love, it seems to me that an evening divides us two,
When you set, when my eyes burst into flame
With the heat of thoughts of You, into tender twilights,
Vast twilights, where a stray wanderer plunges.
Yet the pilgrim, unlike me, is allowed to greet You in the morning,
When You tickle him on the lips with Your rays,
Yet my stepmother Night knows every step, every look,
toward her sister, Day, she is consumed by spite.
Your silence, the deepest silence, I hear again and again,
But I know that You turn to me in the sky,
Therefore I surely burn thus today and my key casts a light
Into the keyhole that knows we can't live without each other.
Slunecnik: Hello dear and handsome Antonio. Now
I can say it – handsome. I came from the city
and couldn't wait for the moment when I open
the mailbox that brings joy
as well as pain, as I feel from your verses.
Slunecnik: I am very glad that I am that
stastlivcem, kteremu tato vec prinesla
radost. Verse jsou nadherne a tesi me 3x
vice kdyz vim, ze jsou urceny me.
