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■ Pașadine în vers alb (73)
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2012-05-15 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
(3. acceptance)
what are you selling, gringo? bulls skinned alive while staring into the depth of red sky screaming with tears in wine... what are you selling - a blink of an eye? you're praying to the death and your child is making his yantra out of a skin of a snake but you still believe in fortune and you're rich, and you're wise like the shadow that lingers in the light's embrace so delightfully divine what are you selling? me, my petito, my life? I've dreamed of a darkness that flew through the sky and killed all that's living and sucked in the light I've dreamed of a dream so wild, so uncouth that droll glimpse of void made me cry, and I cried at the edge of that childhood, so neglected, benign (like the virgin for Christ before coming alive) I soaked my cheek in the blood of the sun and then I looked at the sky without cease without ease at the collapse of meaning under the burden of why that motivates self in becoming a man since I've never dreamed instead I struggle just to understand so what are you selling, gringo, an end? * (4. longing for) they were so aligned in the shine of a dime so untouchably closed in the marrow of time twisting interlaced in chambers and stairs so perfect, divine that inception itself would have disrupted without taking their breath into cells with a blow their shadow was driven away in the whispering sound of a feeble cry a dream to an end below the sinking explosions of suns but their fall demands from within a bearing that craves neither the end, nor even the freedom itself just for you to taste their perishing sense to endure the reason that stands behind of that self (faith, mettle, glare, shame, disbelief, meekness and, above all, adherence) and the child stretched out his hands and caught the glittering remains in a puddle of rain disturbing the reflections in waves
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