Shut up, tricksy life, and picture me outright
passing you through the head of a needle – eyes tight –
and embroider these moments on my skin, like a strand;
all I have on my body are my country, my land.
I swear by my touch and my timeless sense,
by my voice and my blood running dense,
I ’m not scared, though silence returns screaming my way,
cause she ’d always just beckoned from far and away.
Demented and all neatly made;
clean as a harlot, wellpaid;
shapely, yet tipsy from the eternal drinking.
I’ ll stay, then, till I see a full moon –wishful thinking–
so beautiful, that if I could myself repay
I ’d end beautifully, too – but no, I won’t betray.
I ’ll call myself a liar, again without rest,
until you come along, my fearful guest.
And when you flow towards me, bring me some air;
tell me please, is it night or day out there?
If you sit for a while, cheer up my concerns;
but make haste ’cause the silence returns.
The silence returns from a heavy trudge
in the miracles’ yard shame takes out its grudge.
My soul champs the root and swallows it up
with my very own cinders I’ll cover me up.
She returns! Blazing flames she’s been taking apart.
She drinks marrow and counts the beats of your heart.
She knows you went crazy just yesterday,
she can hear your sobbing; she’s here to stay.
A couple of words simple and ’lone need a double labor of late;
the unsuspected time they abuse to compensate for their weight.
They nudge you softly and have a guide blind and puzzled
who drags muzzled dogs that are wearing no muzzle.
They bring back old times, they don’t treat a draught.
In the silence amused and confused, on they laughed.
They pride on true light in the glare,
curled up, with no hands, they beg in despair.
They lick the way for the silence to make it shine;
on she comes counting days in times benign.
So I’ll stay here in case everyone riles
I ’ll take a rest under the shadow of my rhymes.
You’ll find fear while searching the reason why
and if you try to re-create, I’ll cut off every tie.
I ’ll live on air, like a bullet I ’ll ride
I ’ll strike with vacuum, with ether I ’ll make ’em rise.
But, you won’t take it, instead you will rush
to name the casual, cabal, at first blush.
And I ’ll force my head in the ground to swallow the root,
because the silence returns, she’s en route.