Homeless Poet Writing to His Love

I will build us a house made of words.
Nouns will be bricks
and verbs will be shutters.

With adjectives we will adorn
the window sills
as with flowers.

In perfect silence we will lie
beneath the baldachin of our love.
In perfect silence.

Our house will be too beautiful
and too fragile for us to endanger it
with an inflation of words.

And if we speak,
we will name objects
visible only to our eyes.

Because every verb
could shake the foundations
and demolish them.

Therefore, hush, mon amour,
hush, pour le beau demain
à notre maison.

Brezdomni pesnik piše svoji ljubici

Brezdomni pesnik piše svoji ljubici

Zgradil nama bom hišo iz besed.
Samostalniki bodo opeke
in glagoli bodo polkna.

S pridevniki si bova okrasila
okenske police
kot z rožami.

Cisto tiha bova ležala pod baldahinom
najine ljubezni.
Cisto tiha.

Prelepa in prekrhka bo najina hiša,
da bi jo ogrozila
z inflacijo besed.

In ce bova spregovorila,
bova imenovala predmete,
vidne le najinim ocem.

Ker vsak glagol
bi lahko zamajal temelje
in jih razrušil.

Zato, pst, mon amour,
pst, pour le beau demain
à notre maison.