Mest lästa ▸
Dante
You called me a sweet name today,
You coated it in sugar and honey
The sweet taste of nectar made me squeal with happiness,
My pillow catching my screams of yearning for the next time you'd call me another sweet name.
Once I heard your voice once more blood rushed to my cheeks
My oh my what did I do to deserve you,
You rushed into my life like the hot feeling of my ears becoming hot when you whispered so dearly to me,
I was yours once you moved my hair behind my ear with a swift touch,
Come back and touch me once more I'd wish
My eyes are not like doors
to just close and sleep.
A ruthless rebel is my yearning.
It desperately keeps fighting with my past.
I close my eyes to welcome sleep,
yet unconsciously
the pale face of the moon
and that of my mothers
in the agony of her death,
walk the alleys of my memory.
Slowly. In silence. Keeping me awake.
Who would fear death when there is April?
Like a flame, like a song,
To heal all who have lived with yearning
Year-through, life-long.
When there is April with fulfilment
For longing and for pain.
For every reaching hand that beauty
Has lured in vain.
Who would shrink from the earth when April
With slim rain hands shall reach
Through the doors of dark, and call them
Who love her speech.
The faint lose faith
When in the tomb their all is laid,
And there returns
No echoing of weal or woe.
The strong hope on,
They see the clods close over head,
The grass grow green.
No word is said.
And yet —
A little world within the world
Are we,
Daily our hearts' high yearnings fade,
Are buried !
New ones are made, —
Are crucified !
And yet —
Hunger points a bony finger
To the workhouse on the hill,
But the little children linger
While there's flowers to gather still
For my sunny window sill.
In my hands I take their faces,
Smiling to my smiles they run.
Would that I could take their places
Where the murky bye-ways shun
The benedictions of the sun.
How they laugh and sing returning
Lightly on their secret way.
While I listen in my yearning
Their laughter fills the windy day
With gladness, youth and May.
So detached and cool she is
No motion e’er betrays
The secret life within her soul,
The anguish of her days.
She seems to look upon the world
With cold ironic eyes,
To spurn emotion’s fevered sway,
To scoff at tears and sighs.
But once a woman with a child
Passed by her on the street,
And once she heard from casual lips
A man’s name, bitter-sweet.
Such baffled yearning in her eyes,
Such pain upon her face!
I turned aside until the mask
Was slipped once more in place.