Sunday, 19 July 2015

My First Thought On the Eve of Aid Was You

She lies enclosed in wood
Wrapped in warm brown earth
As the chants resound from every wall
And happiness melts into hearts
Lugubrious silence melts into me
In this house that is not my home
Grains of dirt embrace her bones
and mine.

Under hot suns
Cold moons
Shadowless skies
Wind-swept and crusty stonework
It is not she who lies there
Only her collagen and calcium
Soaked in grief and nostalgia
that I've been pouring over the epitaph
for years.

Is she holding hands with the stars?
Does she float through nothingness?
Is her home of never explored materia?
Feet anchored, oscillating gaze
I sense her presence.

Oleanders and pine
Paint that has gone grey
and withering grass
are your company

Would that I could be the poison of the Oleander
The bucket of white paint
The drops of dew dripping from the pines
The sap of their trunks
Or leaves of grass sprouting over you

Would that my soul could leap to you
Just to see your smile and kiss your forehead
Like I did on that last day
Except your forehead would be warm again
And not hard and stone cold
Would that I could know where you are
I hope you're better off than I
Maybe happier
I hope you can see me
In that case, I will try to smile at the sky every day
Even though the cakes I make will never contain your touch again.

"I am stretched on your grave and will lie there forever
With your hands held in mine I'll be sure we'd not sever."
Dead Can Dance

From Tumblr.