Tuesday, 1 September 2015

Brush Stroke

The canvas revealed itself
Like the breaking of the dawn
I drew my first stroke
Like the coming of the tiger
From behind the hiding
To prey on his feast

Eyes close...
Mouth opens...
Hearts pound...
Life spills out...

Two dead bodies
Bury each other
In the carcass of their desires
And rise like two haunted souls

We walk together
Hand in hand
Out of our bodies

Probably our bodies are still lying there
In that smoke-filled room
The ashtray still warm with ashes
Of our wildly burnt night

We’re here now
Collecting pieces of our last night
Waiting for the news of our death
Waiting to hear somewhere
In the news or from the newspapers
Breaking News:

“Two young bodies found dead
in their last embrace. Probably,
they must have choked each other
In unbearable passion.”

It’s quite late now...
But the news hasn’t arrived yet

We hold each other’s hand
And listen to old melodious songs
About longing and immutable pain of separation
While our waiting is getting long...quite long

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