стихи
Utu Man (17) A Bowl from Babylon
Utu Man (17) A Bowl from Babylon A madly expensive painted bowlwhich ruined my uncle in Babylon stood always on a lynx-legged table in the middle of his dingy room. Crawling on the floor, desperately looking up to this bowl, I was too little to see more than its outer wall, its antelopes with braided beards and pollen-stained butterfly-men, its lions with shrewd turquoise smiles and scarabs rolling a rouge-faced moon. As soon as I could stand on my feet, I peeped, breathless, inside the bowl, but there was nothing in it, only a sheeny sphere of cobalt blue, not a single scale of a beryl-barked tree, not a carmine plume of a freckled god, just one tiny streak of a sunset ray trapped in it when the glaze was poured. Beneath the outer wall of my nascent life, bursting with breathing and multi-skied, I wondered what it would be like when I grew up enough to glance inside. Now I can, but see nothing at all save a cobalt sweep of a faceless tide and a flickering flake of my sudden soul trapped in the cooling glaze of time. |
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