upstairs,
the hemlock
of heavy steps
pauses with
a pinch of passion,
rose words,
cactus response
breaking dishes
litter the floor
like triangles
colliding,
and then,
silence
as night tempts
tragedy into
exhaustion
with the promise
of morning,
and nothing else
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Comments1
a brilliant write! in my humble opinion
wonderful imagery, and an intriguing journey within words that I can't help but translate through my rose tinted glasses for those elysian fields of timeless wisdom:
'starting, with those last minutes of Socrates
where it must have felt like - all of existence, paused
passing-by that Greek wedding, dance of plates
where Plato slept his final rest
and eases us gently, to our now
of romanticised tragedy, when we presume
surely: this - is as broken, as we get...'
(please forgive me for indulging in my own translation of your work, I mean no disrespect dear poet)
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