Calm funerary monuments tramples the parched ground of this deserts.
The recoiled shadowy boredom submerges this incautious verziere of dreams.
Again the black flow of time defeated the chariots of the shining age and overturned in muddy fords.
Imbued in this fabric of memories the present of my dubious certainties, a worn edge of worn-out years where the past is pain and the wait has already passed.
3am thoughts, of my late cousin, for my late cousin and our early dreams.
Everyday, at every nightYou can’t break me downI won’t surrender In the stillness of the nightI hear you all too wellBut I will not open my eyesI will fight When its just me and youI’ll awake to find myself asleepEvery night we will dance and when I wake;We’ll both disappear I won’t fight no moreI …
…a poem by Sena Quashie Tonight the moon dances with laziness; As well as beautyOn the cushions of many who dream. With its dull light like a distracted handIt caresses the outlines of ourselves as we fall asleep. On the satin back of the soft avalanches, Dying, she surrenders to the long swoon, And walks in our eyes, a white …
My skin crawlsmy face fallsmy heart shrinks;You’re at it again. Your voice unheardyour tales unreadthe laughs unshared;You’re at it again. Shame floods my beingdarkness veils my worlddoubts storm my heart;You’re at it again. I beg and hagglecoax and seduce;How could yoube at it again?! The eyes have bled,the heart has cried,the soul has echoed…Enough. I …
untitled for Afi
Calm funerary monuments
tramples the parched ground of this deserts.
The recoiled shadowy boredom
submerges this incautious verziere of dreams.
Again the black flow of time
defeated the chariots of the shining age
and overturned in muddy fords.
Imbued in this fabric of memories
the present of my dubious certainties,
a worn edge
of worn-out years
where the past is pain
and the wait has already passed.
3am thoughts, of my late cousin, for my late cousin and our early dreams.
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