Scorpions

hermits
light hurts them
they feed on sawdust of dusk
live in worm-eaten towers

homeless
squeezed under rocks
in cracks and fissures
flattened by the weight
rolling over them

at times they dart up up into the silence
up up into the coldness
at times their white blood quivers in
a voiceless song

on the summit of solitude
under the rain of night
they rise and let out a stifled cry

another cry answers from a different heart
the chorus of cries fills
the dismembered depths
under the black sky
flames up
and gradually abates

they live with their venom
aimed at their own hearts

Škorpijoni

Škorpijoni

samotarji so
svetloba jih boli
hranijo se z zagovino mraka
zivijo v stolpih iz èrvojedine

brezdomci so
stisnjeni pod kamni
v razpokah špranjah
sprešani od teze
ki se vali èeznje

vèasih švignejo gor gor v tišino
gor gor v mraz
vèasih jim bela kri drhti v pesmi brez glasu

na vršièku samote
tam pod dezjem noèi
se vzpnejo in zaklièejo klic tišinast

iz drugega srca jim odgovori drug klic
potem cvetejo klici
v razkosanih globoèinah
globoko dol pod èrnim nebom
hitro se prizigajo
tiho odcvetajo

zivijo z zelom
namerjenim v lastno srce