If you finish the weaving, lay out your linens
To whiten under the birch;
I will come home by them – twilight dimming –
From the grave of my gloomy night.
Weave, if you must, all mournful remembrances,
But crossweave your linens with dreams:
How often in years of want and disaster
Have you wakened in granaries?
Our river shimmers blue like a window,
Heavy stones sigh in the swamps;
I am destined for home from my purgatory
Along a white linen path.
Charmed by its purity, spirits hasten
Trusting the home they must reach;
They seek a night’s lodging like little candles
Along meadow, wood-edge and marsh.
In my grief for your sad eyes be a transgression,
I’ll complete my purgation at home –
There, a sorrowing September waits for me
With juniper, birch, and stone.
(Leonardas Andriekus)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Dreams Poems, Home PoemsBased on Keywords: granaries, purgatory, linens, purgation