"He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong."


When he died, she died too.

Wreathed in withered flowers

and silent pain, she sat staring

lifelessly at her trembling hands,

feeling words erupting from her

insane soul, abandoning her books,

her papers, her life.

----she was confused, so confused----

Her mind was a pool crying for the

Other Side, a sea in turmoil, a wild

tide embracing her heart in sweet

depths of anguish and horror.

----she was confused, so confused----

The condolences, the sympathy:

She remembers, she still remembers.

The comfort - where was it? Where

was it?

She was oppressed, suffocated,


She was looking for salvation,

She was looking for him in her bed,

in her hair, in her veins, in her despair.

But he was a petal falling, falling.

(her heart was still laid at his feet)

Where was he? Where was he?

Did he sleep? Say God he did sleep...

One day, one day in November, she

opened the gate, she greeted hell,

burning her heart calmly and so well.

----she was daft, she was dazed----

She jumped, diving into his soul,

crying, swearing she was whole.


His bitter blood covered her in sorrow.

(yesterday and tomorrow)

Karla Bardanza

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