Massada…

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…

De Profundis…

Ecclesiastes of A Job…

Of despair my heart is bleeding,
Something wrong must have happened today,
Pieces of breath, frozen singing
Memories searching their way.

No more, no shore departing,
No dreams to brag about,
Cowards and dogs shouting,
Swans never flying south.

Tender whatever with roses,
Bitter garment of thorns,
Open which nobody closes,
One good for a thousand of wrongs.
…………………………..
I told you that morning, mother,
I do not want to be born,
To be the next; another,
Boring duty to mourn.