Portrait, Painted by a Superior
This is my picture. Bitter flesh stretched tight.
Life is nowhere so broken down, so flat.
Too much has died here. Father, set it right!
You say you cannot? I was afraid of that.
A painter of your sort I've never known.
You paint my hands so massive. It's no use
My murmuring. You stand there cold as stone
And in the background let all hell break loose.
“I've painted you for all eternity.”
Preposterous claim. So cowardly, so small.
The beggar has paid his debt. And so let be.
He does not want eternity at all.
Paint me a child's face, young and smooth and shy.
A garden with a house somewhere apart.
And a gentle wife. You say you cannot? Why,
I was afraid of that. Right from the start.
Translated by D.M. de Silva
Page(s) 92-93
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