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    songs of death

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    Posts : 67
    Join date : 2010-07-16

    songs of death

    Post  rose on Tue Aug 10, 2010 3:22 pm

    [center]Songs of death

    Everyone thinks you are black

    The absence of light
    But you have the colour of blindness
    Thick whiteness

    Is there anyone else who thinks of you as much as I do?
    You are lucky to be my friend
    Our friend

    Your silence is so heavy
    Like the tear that refuses to fall
    Like the wing of night over the insomniac birds
    Like the grave of the unknown lover who died last summer.


    They did not teach me about you
    I have always known you
    Since I have first stirred in my mother’s womb
    Since the icy breath of the outer life hit my face
    Since I first met your eyes in the large clump of clay
    From which we were fashioned and you smiled to me
    Alas, I did not know that you only smile for once!


    She asked me about the pain death inflicts on us
    It’s that thorn pierced on the side of the sparrow
    Nestled in our souls

    For 26 years I have been sleeping with you
    For 26 years I have been losing my virginity to your image
    Till the day you break your silence
    And lose your virginity to my tired body
    How great your patience is my innocent child!


    What are you?
    You are one big tear that can never be entirely shed
    By the eyes of all humans
    We need the help of a god


    You are so simple, Death
    So simple
    Simpler than simplicity itself
    A sad spoon on a deserted table
    An empty rocking chair by a window
    A slip of paper yellowing alone at the corner
    A solitary toothbrush on a sink
    A broken glass, a forgotten window,
    A closed book that will never be opened again
    An hourglass that will never be inverted again
    Two glassy eyes endlessly devouring time

    They hate you because they think you are a killer
    A murderer, an assassin
    A savage barbaric beast
    When you are nothing but an artist
    A singer who chants with our sighs
    A painter who dips his brush in our blood
    A sculptor who out of our souls carves a hanging garden
    A decorator who with our tiny hearts adorns the big tree of our Christmas


      Current date/time is Mon Apr 23, 2018 1:24 am