Home > Poetry > Candles

Candles

October 18, 2009

The days that are to come, they stand before us
like to a row of lighted little candles, —
brilliant, and warm, and lively little candles.

The other days, the by-gone, lag behind,
a mournful row of candles that are quenched:
a few of them, the nearest, smoulder still,
but most are cold, and crooked, and reduced.

I dread to look on these: their shape is grievous,
and grievous the remembrance of their light.
In front, my lighted candles I behold.

I dread to turn, lest I perceive, affrighted,
how fast the sombre row is lengthening,
how fast the extinguished candles multiply.

C.P. Cavafy.

(Translated by John Cavafy)

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  1. Mike P
    October 18, 2009 at 9:07 pm

    I just ran into Cledwyn Jones at a trivia night at a pub near me. Apparently we live in the same neighborhood. This is the smallest of all possible worlds.

  2. October 18, 2009 at 10:13 pm

    @Mike

    And that has what to do with candles? ;)

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