Renaissance



Time of Dance

To Sedrick

You lovely aunty Winter sings your sad melody of misery,
Ears full of agony, hearing
Earth in his dullness, waiting
World is glad of another new year, coming
Life is like a mad dream, passing;
You saw all that and
Made the melody of forgotness, lifeless, emptiness;
In songs of which you are glad
In this yard of whiteness that everything else is
Dying.

All objects of reality freezing.

That man you know
Perhaps by chance of passing a street today
In this time of lifelessness, walking
For a belle of a night, whistling
and passing in past age of a light,
For days everything shine in a summer’s fun
Filled with colors, life and space all that days which dies,
He whistles.

Strolling in the ways no one passed
Within a forest of a night no one knows
All others sleep in their tiresome hours of ignorance,
Strolling and his face is sad,
Like your melody, aunty Winter;
Full of Mad cries which does not flies
But sties in heart of these miserable lights,
And dies.

And hands, in pockets, freezing.

You lovely aunty Winter sings your sad melody of a requiem,
Full with tears of men all dead, forgot,
With a picture probably left in a cave,
Among whom was a man named Homeless you know,
Passing a street today and thinks of death.

A man with smoke in his hands
Cigarette after cigarette
After cigarette,
After cigarette,
After . . .
A man whose shoulders were light
To a life which was accursed
By people who cries in streets of night:
O BEUTIFULL GRACE OF LOVE
GIVE US OUR LIGHT OF LIFE
AND HAPPINEES, AND SHINE
. . .
In all dreamy prays they song
Within your white melody of death,
Of a new year perhaps to come
They wish the same they lost today
They dream that he walked, in ways they order to walk,
With no whistle, no songs,
Just listening that you lovely aunty Winter songs
Which life is dead like your snows of night?

The man stands, and prays, in his own way,
And you lovely aunty Winter still sings your sad melody of life
Which dose not exist, but dies,
In your white hands of cries,
That still, still he walks
In empty streets of night
With wish of a death, to come.


Soodaroo
2005-12-27
Typed and revised in 2005-12-28 – 5:14 PM  ¶ 1:02 AM