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Bodies of clay
Bodies of clay
He forgot to mold me
I’ve got the shape of the wheel
I’m soft, unburnt
Unfit for the shelf where you
Display your
Shapes
And where you rot
Beneath the dust.
He forgot – the miserable potter
–To give me a heart
In which I could hide
My clay-like feelings
My fire-like tears
And my waterly thoughts.
I’m cuneiform, just like
Your inscription.
So I should mold perfectly
On your cleyey
Body.
I’d even look good
In the brown colour of
Your Egyptian vase-like thighs
On which I could turn into
Osiris, Seth,
Or Horus.
Embrace me, my lover
With body of clay;
Let me paint myself
On your cheek
With
Times
Devious Journal Entry
'Melancolie'
Un vânt răzleţ îşi şterge lacrimile reci pe geamuri.
Plouă.
Tristeţi nedesluşite-mi vin, dar toată durerea,
ce-o simt n-o simt în mine,
în inimă,
în piept,
ci-n picurii de ploaie care curg.
Şi altoită pe fiinţa mea imensa lume
cu toamna şi cu seara ei
mă doare ca o rană.
Spre munţi trec nori cu ugerele pline.
Şi plouă.
(Blaga)
© 2010 - 2024 OceanSoul23
Comments23
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