My love
I sit in my quiet chair
and my thoughts die.
This passion will be written
in my epitaph:
My flowers can’t fly and
I am here watching this gypsy dance
with dead roses dust upon my eyes.

My love
life  breathes and goes on
as I listen to this guitar, lamenting
my eyes and all those delicate things
I hid in my poems, in my perfumed pockets.
(I shall forget you, I shall forget my soul)
My little day, my unobservable tomorrow
weep, just weep.
Why is this love so wild?
Why is this love so deep?
Eros has punished me:
blind darts of death.

My love
I hold this wreath
crying without my eyes,
thrusting this knife again,
bleeding happily as I embrace
the wind and kiss the rain.

My love
I have nothing
but this hope, these memories
so hard to bear and understand.
Passion is a trap.
Passion is quicksand.

My love
You are my impossible him,
a blue angel dying within when
I have just myself and some tears
at night.

My love
I watch you
with sad eyes
while darkness does rise
and engulf me, lulling this deaf passion,
as time tells me another lie.

My love
This is my last vow.
I have loved you long,
I have loved you when I had
just the moon and this song.

My love
Why is it so difficult
to cross this garden and leave?
why are my drums silent?
Why is my flesh so naïve?

My love
I need no answers.
Let me listen to this song again,
Let me see the dance of my pain.

Karla Bardanza

1 comment:

  1. Ahhhh.... the pain and remorse talking out of sequence... without feeling like reflecting out of your body and talking about another other than yourself. Three dimensional, out of body experience.