It began to snow at midnight. And certainly
the kitchen is the best place to sit, 
even the kitchen of the sleepless. 
It's warm there, you cook yourself something, drink wine 
and look out of the window at your friend eternity. 
Why care whether birth and death are merely points 
when life is not a straight line. 
Why torment yourself eyeing the calendar 
and wondering what is at stake. 
Why confess you don't have the money 
to buy Saskia shoes? 
And why brag 
that you suffer more than others. 

If there were no silence here 
the snow would have dreamed it up. 
You are alone. 
Spare the gestures. Nothing for show.

Vladimir Holan


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