I Have a Word

I Have a Word

A Grave below the Hilltop /diptych/
My Locked Father
Misty Little Poem
In Lithuanian Dreams They Visit Me
The Empty Quarnero Sea
Rhetorical Poem

The magma, cold, dreadful,
from the melted consciousness
of the lunatic does not bear
new life.

A little misty
domiciled for ever
its his universe
infinity in ice
The heart is
a black hole of sense
and all-light.
Or else death
is that silly
little plaything.
Silence, darkness,

volcanoes from the future
float the galaxies.
A message
they do not understand,
they will not live to see:
put to death
distant from
examiners of sense.

To eternity!
To the mist!
To nothing –
you, ridiculous,
players of fear.

Wings gone back to the gods.

(Graham McMaster, “The Bridge”, Zagreb, 2004.)

AuthorBoris Domagoj Biletić
2018-08-21T17:22:50+00:00 December 29th, 2011|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 80-81|0 Comments