Nazım Hikmet

1940

It gets dark at five
with clouds on the attack.
They clearly carry rain.
Many
Pass low enough to touch…
The hundred watts of our room
and the tailors’ oil lamp are lit.
The tailors are drinking linden tea…
Which means winter’s here…
I’m cold.
But not sad.

This privilege is reserved for us:
on winter days in prison,
and not just in prison
but in the big world
that should
and will
be warm,
to be cold
but not sad …