The Human Face Of The Word To Breathe In One Ineffable Word, So It Can Shape Yours Sigh Until The Snow Softens Even The Voice Of The Sorrow, And Finally To Pick Up In It The Sile Poem by Borce Panov

The human face of the word

to breathe in one ineffable word,
so it can shape yours sigh
until the snow softens
even the voice of the sorrow,
and finally to pick up in it the silence
by all those that it have touched,
to know that his human face
has been burned long ago
and that the wind blows the ashes
in your mouth
just tonight when beauty is memory
that is revealed into yours whisper
like a gentle face...
oh, if I could touch you so
lost through the words
that I had never spoken
and to find the perfect inside of me
like an age-old reason for the origin...
but the truth is kicking my memories
like a shadow on the walls
onto the quiet fire of a silence
and each fire is thought which changes,
burning and more and more abrades me
to only one word,
to the bone of a solitude, with you, God,
in this room of the Last Supper with myself,
and again you are saying to me
that everything begins from the dust:
the universe and the stars come from dust
and come back to the dust right as people
o, that dust from a human face of the word
which, as the light of the future,
touches us with unforgettable memories
yet, a beautiful word
is like opening sparkling wine:
like in some miracle more and more
bubbles are multiplying and raise
up to the pronunciation of freshness,
same is with the soul
it multiplies and multiplies and with shivers
it raises my joy
to pronounce the word that makes me alive

Borce Panov