Listen
The murmur in your head
Driving you gently across
A bleak, slow, sorrowful street
Hunting edges of unmarked corpses in
the night
Twitching nerve, itching skin,
slippery hands failing to grip
To hope, any hope, any rope
Repeat after me
I, redeemer, drunken dreamer, sway
untouched, unseen, unspoken
Under the dim lit corner, a sigh, a whispering
crawling up your ear
Not here
Never here
Gravel soaked in crimson blood, the
wreckage feast, the damage done
To whom? To no one
You never seen no one
Because
We are not here to be seen
But to be felt, deep, deep inside
your skin
Clutching at every thought left unattended
We are the dead
Nothingness spread across the void of
your unwillingness
Marching silent in a sea of endless,
endless noise, a violent noise
As a vain expression of indulgence, a
zombified nation
Without a notion of time and no time
for any notion of life
We are the living ones
We are
The fractal mind of a collective perpetual desolation
The ghosts that sit by your side
As you read these words
I am now the shivering across your
spine
[für H.]
[für H.]
Poema, música, cena e cenário do filme completamente entrelaçados. Os nossos anjos da guarda são, afinal, os fantasmas da nossa “collective perpetual desolation”, algo que faz sentido para qualquer leitor... de livros ou da realidade. Tão delicamente negro quanto complexo. A thing of beauty....
ResponderEliminarAnd what a shiver this is! Muito bom ler-te em inglês. Uma delícia, de bem escrito.
ResponderEliminar