Just leave me, fellows, leave me in
That smoky corner of a tavern,
To see those stragglers dry their chin,
And booze again and say it’s heaven.
Just leave me there next to my glass,
So I can fling the book of life;
Wine, sweet-and-bitter venom mass,
I weep, I hold my pocket knife.
Let my tormented lead-like head
Get drowsy at the sound of fiddles,
Let sweet oblivion come instead
Of all those wisdom words and riddles.
Leave, leave me here, so I can tell
My story to some mouse or toad.
For I am no one’s child; no hell,
No heaven’s mine, no home, no road.
Translator: Ioana Carp
see more poems written by: Gavril Rotică
