Pic: Elena Caldera
Drop after drop every day is a rain
Of scratching black lava in an abyss
of this heart coldly burned
From invisible plugs of flaming lethal fire
One petal after another consumes the flower
of time eroded by pain
That screams to the tunnel of deadly mystery,
Into shreds melts the mantle of integrity
denuding a fragile skeleton of the soul:
Divine cell suddenly deprived
of its fiery nucleus of shared love
Now I am an empty shell dried by the winds of fate
Robbed from its hot pulp of vital passion.
Without you I feel extinguished,
deafened by every violent second that resounds
Drilling the thin eardrum of balance
Dying with you every time,
turning off the light of my being
Like a star found alone
in the dense universe
of eternal tears.
English Translation: Eddie Woods
Wonderful poem Elena. Reminds me of these Romantic poets:
Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sate alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice … but, link by link,
Went counting all my chains, as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand … why, thus I drink
Of life’s great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech,—nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
Who cannot guess God’s presence out of sight.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806 – 1861
Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time’s all-severing wave?
Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains, on that northern shore,
Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
Thy noble heart forever, ever more?
Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers,
From those brown hills, have melted into spring:
Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!
Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
While the world’s tide is bearing me along;
Other desires and other hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!
No later light has lightened up my heaven,
No second morn has ever shone for me;
All my life’s bliss from thy dear life was given,
All my life’s bliss is in the grave with thee.
But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even Despair was powerless to destroy,
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.
Then did I check the tears of useless passion—
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;
Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
Down to that tomb already more than mine.
And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in memory’s rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?
Emily Bronte 1818 -1848Comment by claire on 10 November, 2017 at 12:32 am