By Thomas Page

The Untranslatable

This is a series of poems of words that do not directly translate into English. I have tried to capture the essence of the word in a poem.

The ticks of a tock slow down to a mockery,

The ebbs of a flow slow down to a disappointment,

The pushes of a pull thrust you into a place not quite here, not quite there.

The coffee bitters

The milk curdles

The sugar rests unfazed by spoon mocks the ceremony of the morning

You don’t know whether to sigh or yell

But something has to change for the better

Before the sun is dyed the night time sky’s blue. 

Language: Russian

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