aging

By -
i close my fist
and feel a surge
i open my hand again
first feeling,
then seeing
a shimmering
a tingling
an aura of power
which will fade as i grow older

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

from the corridors of evelyn's mind

By -
a couple of days ago i came across the following poem from evelyn amber beltser , and was so moved i simply *had* to translate it: .ככה זה טוב ככה זה טוב - לא פחות ולא יותר יותר, יותר, יותר" - ההד של הקיבעון" - .משוטת במזדרונות של המוח ,אם הייתי בית מלון המזדרונות האלו היו הקומה הסגורה שלי .שהמעליות לא מגיעות עליה .בכל סרט אימה מכובד יש כזאת ,לפעמים אני חושבת שלמרות כל הקירבה אנחנו כל כך מרוחקים שאם התודעות שלנו היו כוכבים עדיין הייתי יושבת פה ומחכה לאור של אחרים להגיע that's good. that's good - no less and no more - "more, more, more" - an echo of fixation sails through the corridors of my brain. if i was a hotel, these corridors would be my sealed floor that the elevators wouldn't reach. every respectable horror movie has one. sometimes i think that despite all the proximity, we are so far away from each other that if our minds were the stars i would still be sitting here waiting for the light of others to arrive.
Read more

cosmic dust

By -
we came in from the desert, large tribes covered in the dust of ancient cultures thirsty for drops of fresh water, and cold for the rays of sunshine we left the desert bound to one another with thick, knotted cords but now with tied hands we slowly thread fibre optic tubes through our ears and eyes and noses and mouths patching, brain to brain, the members of our tribes, stitching ourselves to the edges of the enemy camps the red lights flicker, flash, form droplets of salty water sweated out the unsealed pores to flood the world again build your ark, noah, strong enough to float out the deluge for nothing else we know can survive and when the libraries and the server rooms and the galleries and the museums are all underwater or evaporated, then we can start all over again
Read more