Waste

Альбина Кумирова
Why should this man who isn’t mine
divert my thoughts to him alone
just with his smile of sunshine
and makes in me desires groan?

Am I so mad, am I so blind?
Why words are gushing in my mind?
They sparkle like pure springs
and lift me up as if by wings?

Oh, why this waste of feelings’ torrents
and sleepless nights - for a man?
Who – God or devil – now warrants
this test for me? What is the plan?

Why should I wrench myself in guessing,
if this could be a curse, a blessing,
or something else, or something else 
beyond familiar earthly realms,

beyond the visible?

6 November 2011