Gift

“First we feel. Then we fall.”

― James Joyce

in all cuts and fabrics

I wear only funeral blacks

in spite the pulse 

and the heart beat

there are moments 

of death, so vivid

that I fear

by this year end

my corpse will start rotting

the worms of your words

eating the core

of my heart

and then slowly

your oblivion

towards my pain

will stop hurting

time for new year gift!
dress me as a bride

and please buy me 

a lovely coffin

called love !

Burial

“In the dark times 

Will there also be singing? 

Yes, there will also be singing.

About the dark times.” 

― Bertolt Brecht 

My body touches

smiles, loves, hates

feels 
while the soul
drowns in
a deafening silence

no bubbles reach
the surface
no ripples

the still waters
of life
choke my lungs
no songs now
no more words

I am buried
where you can't
light candles !

Her love was a migratory bird

She a still lake

in the middle of nowhere

He a Red Knot

flying 16,000 kilometres 

twice a year

from his "home"

called Siberia

no maps, no compass

- only soul 

his geomagnetic field

- only love

sun during the day

stars by night

leading him to her

he built a nest

in her 

and then  

she set him free

back to the sky

where he was meant to be

as she held his image

in her still womb

her love was

a migratory bird !