Poem by Klaudia Wysocky
Once again, Diderot's beautiful ruin stands in the corner of my mind, the great book-city he described in Les Bijoux Indiscrets. It stands there with its cupola and wings and spires; the vast cranes that have been thrown up over the roofs, the towers of every color and shape, like laments; the wide-open windows that look out across the city's view: and here a rich man's palace, there a poor man's hovel, and everywhere the same old poverty and misery. The sun shines on Diderot's ruin, but it is not enough to warm the air. It glares on the golden spires and cupolas, and melts the stone and marble into liquid gold. The shadows lie across the dusty streets like a veil of fire; the scorched pavement is strewn with broken glass, with splinters of wood and bits of plaster; the dead leaves rustle, and amid that universal silence one hears the distant hum of a city in pain.
Klaudia Wysocky, a Polish poet based in New York, is known for her ability to capture the beauty of life through rich descriptions in her writing. She firmly believes that art has the potential to inspire positive change. With over five years of experience in fiction writing, Klaudia has had her poems published in local newspapers and magazines. For her, writing is an endless journey and a powerful source of motivation.
