Nika Turbina

My verse is like a ball of wool


My verse is like a ball
Of coloured wool, tangled by a child…
Come morning, I would try to sort them out
Into separate tidy balls,
But by the evening - what nonsense! –
The floor, the walls, the streets and all that’s in them –
All’s in a mess!
The verses are akin
To a long patchwork quilt,
No- to a road, along which I
Am doomed to roll my ball of wool forever…
So let the child mix up the threads –
Just one straight path is not for me to walk!
Nor is it possible to fill the world
With single colour!
Let my words turn out to be a rainbow.