Something of Death
Oh days, oh
birds, wait, wait, for this is my heart still stumbling over the slopes, its
feet made of snow, and its eyes the remains of a copper voice searching for
something of death.
I searched for
a long time everywhere my fingers could reach, I searched for my gray color,
and I also searched for my hidden veins, but I did not find an image of myself.
Maybe I'm tainted to the point of
blindness. I must find my purity in order to see the image of the person I
know, who longs for a free death. I am really sorry now, because I was not able
to do that, because I know that life has a smile that cannot be seen except
through that beloved death.
I stand here
every day like a bird of distant islands. I stand as a stranger listening to
that voice; The voice of my heart. Yes, I am standing here waiting for my pure
soul to return; I wait for my life every day in the hope that I will die.
