WISE AUTUMN

a poem
by AZsacra ZARATHUSTRA
English translation by AIDar ISMAGILOV



the wind
ordered us
to burn
the books


to walk
from house to house,
to take them out,
tear apart and
hand them over to
the fire


read
only those pages,
which flicker
in the flames of
fire


in this –
Wise Autumn –
all the clever butterflies
remained in their
flowers


the trees themselves
sentenced
the snow


the winter
took
just
the people –
there was no more
burnt
leaves