Requiem for a Girl

/, Blesok no. 51/Requiem for a Girl

Requiem for a Girl

Inscriptions at the Centre of Gravity
Starfish
Legacy of Love
Offered Lady
Sesame
Pure Thought (a thought not thinking)
The Chosen

There in the distance, enticing horizons are inviting each other.
Words, as if healing future memories
. We are not worthy,
they are silent. They re-appropriate psalms, and above all
they sprinkle gold-grey ashes on everything. Our spirit,
what do you give, if you have anything? We are not worthy…
Beneath the white thighs grow the proffered offerings
of festive times, to reach, to lie down, to rest and spawn a legend
about the warm eyes, or cold stares, or soft breasts, or prickly warts;
to spawn the legend about the springs of oblivion, or victory’s
favourite sons, which are now no more. Legends are bathing
in milk and the traces are healing, now the springs run dry and the
paths turn black. We are not worthy, they are bleeding. They only smoothen themselves. How they forgive themselves the stars
on their limitless milky ways, incense smells sweet, blades of grass
wither away into eternity, fruits father and beings please. O, say nothing. Distances are not too close and loads are not without
weight. From there to here legends are celebrated.
They are conceived up to seven times, seventy times.
And every time shoots a star. Up to seven times, seventy times.
It ascends, consents. Pardons. It reddens and bares itself.
From the sky bare gymnosperms sprinkle peace and forget.
And down below the paths meander, the fields are covered,
no-one anywhere, the horses of undying end hope.
In the washed out time
and place. Now they are afraid now,
sealed for good.

2018-08-21T17:23:11+00:00 November 27th, 2006|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 51|0 Comments