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Like an empty apartment with dirty ceilings,
Bare walls, scraped by the nails that once held paintings,
From which the furniture and hangings have moved away,
Where the floor is strewn with straw and rags,
Thus, devastated by the fates, black clowns,
My mind has filled with echoes, with harsh clarities.
The pictures, blue dreams and sweet adventures,
Have left only their trace written in deep holes.
May the rain and the wind through the open window
Cover with acrid mold and green moss
All these debris, horror of beloved memories!
May in this dilapidation, a new hostess
Never come back to drag with laziness,
On new carpets, her perfumed dressing gowns!
Charles Cros
Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-dilapidation-charles-cros/