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Saturday, December 31, 2016


A solitary light / a shadow in solitude
do not ask for an imprint on the body
do not ask for a trace of the tongue
Taming a stallion is nothing less than crowning the Queen
You demand that grain of wheat found under the throne –
I demand she who bears the mace
No inscription to denote, no relic to possess
only the ability to distil the hunch of survival
We were not passers-by – we did not live in vain:
With this hand I touch,
listening to the psalm of pulsation
intuiting the lesson of eternity
The secret vessels are riddled with cries and spells
The wine urn
shrouds itself in solemnity
The candles’ tongues gutter on the ceiling
inflaming the heart of the suitor
who highjacks the root of fertility with a song on the verge of extinction
This river never mingled with the river
Ever since boats were invented, fishing and the preparation of fish,
and the fruitful bounty of plenty was harvested,
since channels were cut and dredged
this river is Blood, stained with the tincture of history
a land inherited by vengeance
a woman helplessly roaming and roaring in a cave
Was I there – there and then?


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