Life lives me with all my details,
and I turn around it
as a color of another brush.
My canvases have holes in them
as a Japanese coin,
through which one by one
all my loves free themselves
from me, always outwards
their parting
ringing about my wonderful loss…
and my claps


weigh heavier than I do.
So I have collected them
in my hand
as smashed paper money
and keep them
for the last – the death
to revamp its masks,
that will be hole one day,
as my canvases are.
And I’ll ring out forever,
and life will go on to live me
with all my details…



*Eduard Harents


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