And then the fire
To stare at your necklace
Those shadows on your face
And then the sudden urge
Of those yellow crumpled leaves
To join the grieving dirge
The day forgets, the night forgives…..
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Desires and that sad geometry – faded, oblong
Times. Shapes. Me. You. Past.
The totem-poles and the mist – all where I belong
Song of life. Everything. Silent. Like a child’s corpse
Winter’s harsh, and where moments flutter to death
Bullet-holes, blood-stains – where my shadow morphs
into a butterfly – a butterfly! a sad song, a mad faith…..
Oh it’s a religion! – they say
I guess they’re happier today
You’ve told me that story time and again
And now it’s my turn to gift you my pain…..
Singular stories, plural memories –
Well, my love, that’s all that there is !
That’s all there is, that’s all there is, oh, that’s all there is !
Poisoned by unknown kisses, slaughtered by ill-famed glories….
Stories, Glories, Memories…..
And then, that cold senile descent
Following the footsteps of some forgotten saint
Into the moth eaten breast of love and fear
I’ll be there…. I’ll be there…Yes, I will be there…..
Copy-pasting comment from FB :P
I am not much acquainted with the history behind communists but I can still grasp the sentiment..
Brilliant write as usual! :)
Nothing better could be written To Mayakovsky........All the issues well addressed and thoughts perfectly channelised
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