Depending On Me

Disconnecting tragedy 
you live again, 
in myths 
and illusions. 

The grit. You lack the spine. 
Rocks. 
A slide. 
The chicken. 

The cow-pathway 
leads to a barn of a mud hut, 
where you stand every evening 
to welcome the hoofs dust. 

That tells the history, 
the pain of unknowing, 
revealing the name 
of a killer. 

There was silence 
interrupted by a shriek. 
Someone was rising 
from the grave. 

The inert things start moving.