Tag Archives: child

Massada…

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But who’s this blind-child of my lonely memory,
unwanted morning yet unfollowed by another?
Whose time we chew, whose banner
do we tear apart; why bother?

Alone, bewitched by what complete would mean
if empty’s so rewarding, stand I and mourn…
I’ve lost my mind, I’ve lost my senses
and lost has grown the day when I was born.

“Stand still…” I’m told, “and know…”; and show no pain,
but feel it deep by sides of heart and senses…
So much I know; and time dries bitter ever since
all verbs seem to have lost their future tenses…

The other side of blindness…

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If side,
there’s always there, another…
With no communication
but the bridging self
of the betweenness,
like the torn flag
of broken, subdued ideals…

It’s the betweenness oftentimes
the side of otherness,
spread, squeezed, immense, belittled,
there,
forgotten victim “rightfully left” paying dues
to the left,
to the right,
to whosoever’s shameless
“I’ve been there before you…”

Poor child,
hanging there,
betweenness for
baptised and pagan,
circum- and uncircum-,
soldness* and freedom,
blind between twilight and darkness…

There is no light;
just the uncertainty behind the other side
of blindness…

* – a state of being sold…