En dikt tillägnad en vän i Israel medan hon ännu inte dödats av en katusharaket från Libanon.
For now
For Varda
Your hands Show no scars Yet when I try to read your palms You close them in my face
As if ashamed of them
I try to catch your eyes and you throw back your shock of hair and laugh from the depth of your throat avoiding truth with serious jokes
and so we stand eyes finally locked into our sorrows
had there been snow on the ground our crimson drops would have blazed a trail within the virginal whiteness but we would never step onto that trail again
We already have
And when we eye each other across the oceans of light we joke of horses while longing to be as swift, and we rub our inner pains unconsciously on each others backs.
If we touch In the ultimate way We may be released
But for now We satisfy ourselves With angelic smiles And eat lesser foods
Not feeding our deeper selves Starving ourselves For no reason at all.
Except the fear of being known By someone else
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Björn Donobauer
Läst 582 gånger Publicerad 2006-08-12 08:56 |
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