"Woman on the Platform of the World"

 

I release the dream walker of dreams,

Don't enter the abandoned trains of memories,

Rest your head on my shoulder,

And dream of the girl whose embrace is missing from your smile.

 

You appear to me on the right shoulder,

Between morning and evening,

When my sorrow goes out to seek your wanton pain.

 

You named her Nex Luna,

In her reflection, you see the morphine seed of destruction,

A tiny body capturing a midnight butterfly

For your dry lips that desire

To confess their pain to the nocturnal light.

 

You've covered the knight of the astral plane with chambers,

Your soul entwined in his hair,

The sky of mercy has no solace for your wounds,

Where the dreamy twinkle of fallen stars hides.

 

From afar, I lay my hands on your barren hair,

We're whipped by tears of days gone by,

Salty as sea foam

And bitter like the dried dance of cyanide at the bottom of the bloodstream.

 

Dance the tarentella for my broken moonlight soul,

High above your bed, your sister will appear,

Kissing your pupils,

Cracked during the creation of the world.

 

You appear to me as the shadow of your last sprain,

Releasing your dormant wings onto my palm,

Carrying a heart whose melody not even the universe could compose.

 

Morana Ranarop