almond tree

there is a grave

whose womb  

is filled with madness

madness so dense

madness made of my holy howls

made of my father's madness

made of my mother's madness

 

I echo inside that womb

mutilated by 

angelic wars

for a hand of soil

that bruises my skin

and eats stillborns 

grown in my resurrected garden

 

it is spring

oh death be dead

so I could break your arms

and your legs

and your putrid skull

I would dress your wounds 

(you are manlike)

in my sacred hair 

and warm almond flowers

I would marry you

for a hand of soil

that bruises 

milky face of dawn

 

there is a grave

a mad mad grave

where I become

a bitter almond tree

nikita

Nada

Poslano:
12. 10. 2021 ob 21:06

Žalost veje iz teh angleških besed in zelo pretresljivo se mi zdi tole:

I would dress your wounds 

... žalost v tej pesmi je nalezljiva...

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nikita

Poslano:
13. 10. 2021 ob 14:46

Hvala Nado!

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Ana Porenta

urednica

Poslano:
17. 10. 2021 ob 10:15

Kako postaneš grenko mandljevo drevo; koliko norosti in grobov in smrt, ki nosi konfekcijo, ukrojeno za človeka ... čestitke,

lp, Ana

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nikita

Poslano:
18. 10. 2021 ob 06:25

Hvala Ana!

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Komentiranje je zaprto!

Podčrtanka

nikita
Napisal/a: nikita

Pesmi

  • 12. 10. 2021 ob 20:52
  • Prebrano 387 krat

Uredniško pregledano.

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  • Število doseženih točk: 75.34
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