Хвилі

           Thereisasenseofthebreakofday.Iwillnotcallitdawn.Whatisdawninthecitytoanelderlymanstandinginthestreetlookingupratherdizzilyatthesky?Dawnissomesortofwhiteningofthesky;somesortofrenewal.Anotherday;anotherFriday;anothertwentiethofMarch,January,orSeptember.Anothergeneralawakening.Thestarsdrawbackandareextinguished.Thebarsdeepenthemselvesbetweenthewaves.Thefilmofmistthickensonthefields.Arednessgathersontheroses,evenonthepalerosethathangsbythebedroomwindow.Abirdchirps.Cottagerslighttheirearlycandles.Yes,thisistheeternalrenewal,theincessantriseandfallandfallandriseagain.

           ’Andinmetoothewaverises.Itswells;itarchesitsback.Iamawareoncemoreofanewdesire,somethingrisingbeneathmeliketheproudhorsewhoseriderfirstspursandthenpullshimback.Whatenemydowenowperceiveadvancingagainstus,youwhomIridenow,aswestandpawingthisstretchofpavement?Itisdeath.Deathistheenemy.ItisdeathagainstwhomIridewithmyspearcouchedandmyhairflyingbacklikeayoungman’s,likePercival’s,whenhegallopedinIndia.Istrikespursintomyhorse.AgainstyouIwillflingmyself,unvanquishedandunyielding,ODeath!’

           Thewavesbrokeontheshore.