Singing to the night

Singing to the night

 

In cold trains accross the distance,
I hear sounds of pure melody
I hear hooves on the desert ground
I see dust flowing into the air
I see the white of the eyes of a wild
Horse.

In cold trains accross the distance
I dream of loneliness
Sustained
I think of the thousand flowers
In the fields and I smell their odor.
Outdoors a whole world rejoices
Of being alive
Only a few cry
And most dive into sadness
And weakness under the threats
Of daily threads under cover
Until the mind deceases from paranoia.

I take cold trains across the distance
Slumber, and o soft, tender cheek
In the breeze that I kissed a thousand times
In my mind
When the train left for unknown destinations
Taking me away forever in forsaken lands
To find you, happiness, and uninterrupted
Joy of creation.

Do you feel my leg ?
Do you seize dew
In due time ?
The morning is past
And the sun is high,
I take cold train across the distance.
Do you hear the piano ?
And the reeling wheels
In crowded streets
That steer the mass
The lava of heat
To the core
Of downtown suburbs ?
I take cold trains across the distance.
And I hear the soft music of the coming
Station. I stay seated. And watch
People leave. One day, I’ll leave too.
That day, my bed will be made of
The flowers i’ve seen in the fields
Across the distance
In the white of the eyes of a wild horse.
Corn fields.
That day, in my heart , I will remember
All the love I was given.
I will close my eyes and look upon
The white pages I have filled
With the red ink of my blood.
I will steer my boat in the heavens,
Great havens. I will sing
Until I reach the far post
Where of my body
I will be unclad
And my free soul
Will finally enter
A great mansion
Surrounded
By the flowers
I’ve seen in the fields
On the desert ground
With the wild horse.
It stayed in me
While I was taking
Cold trains accross the distance
Thinking of no one
But me, eating alone
And feasting my eyes
On the scenery we crossed.

That day, I took the train
And, crammed with apple-pie,
My bag was on the verge of
Exploding. Was it my belly ?
Was it my mouth ?
Was it my legs ?

Some honey was poured
In my heart,
And the liquor dry
Soothed all the pain
In alcoholic dreams
Made of short bread
And lying in the parks
But then , the train came.
I ran to the door holding
A red tissue stained with blood
To dry my farewell tears and
My nose running.

She was there, on the pier,
And the fog shaded her
Silhouette, very « coquette »,
Only to speak in my phone
Words of tenderness
To my loves.

 

K.B.

Copyright. All rights reserved.

 

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