Before noon the sky grew dark and later
it fell on the road as black fire.
I leaned, picked up the fire, and tossed it
from one hand to the other.
The fire scorched my right hand,
and blackened the left.
So one hand asked the other:
Why are we tossing the fire?
And the other hand answered:
For the fun of it. Just a game.
© Uladzimir Niakliayeu. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2013 by Valzhyna Mort. All rights reserved.
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