Azabache
– or the jet black eye of permanence-
“Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken sie abends”
“Black milk of daybreak we drink it at evening time”
Paul Celan
breathless,
and if at dawn
you don’t drink me
nor lead me
to the poem…
what shall I do with the word freedom
between my teeth
what shall I do with my astonishment
in the bitterness of my breath
what shall I do with the ashes and the fire in the hearth
I did not invite it
sadness,
is not invited
it arrives by itself
opens doors
windows
it inhabits you
when I finish crying for myself
or when I stop bothering
to accept it as an intruder
I will chuck it out
savour an ice cream
embrace my children
go back to the word
I will start forgetting,
loving what loves me
dreaming what dreams of me…
searching for the faces that search for mine
I will remember
that those who wake up together
are only those who have dreamt together
Caustic
as George
she kept snakes in her soul
none dared drink her blood
as Maenad
she mistook water for honey
she confused the wells
as Ayla
she fled from Broud
she loved Jondalar
she lost Durc
como Hobbitt
she disobeyed Sauron of Morodor
as Psyche
she heeded Aphrodite’s assignments
and
as a mortal she accomplished the three tasks
to sow
to write
to procreate
now
between Mars and Minerva
she demands the power of the serpent
Azabache – I did not invite it – Caustic Published @ el-recreo.com/