The Song of Songs

/, Blesok no. 13/The Song of Songs

The Song of Songs

The Song of Songs
Letter 1
Letter 2

You write nothing to me my Balkan darling
not a single letter
I want to see the stamp, the seal, the address
to make myself sure that you are not there
but here, somewhere very close
in all corners
of my dusty room
on the thirty-fifth page of my atlas
together with the Balkans and the Mediterranean
your hand like the Peloponnesus
your eyes like the Balkan nights
when all things happen
when the dead visit the living
when the living become bloodthirsty werewolves
when the nights are full of noise and nightmares
with half-frozen kisses
with escapes in the darkness beyond return
with endless waiting by the sweating window
when a single hair from your head reminds me
of the nights while the dust is drying my aquarells
in which you are absent
I feel like a white sheet of paper with nothing on it
like a forsaken island in the middle of the ocean
painted on a cheap painting
drop me a single word my Balkan darling

AuthorTeuta Arifi
2018-08-21T17:23:55+00:00 March 1st, 2000|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 13|0 Comments