In your wedlock with darkness,
I admit truth is invisible.
But do not let
The tooth of your stranded skull
Knife the string of my sight,
Until the morning comes.
Your ears to my whispers
You chose to pad with hostility,
Against the move of my lips.
But When I try to show you
Things birthday suited eyes can’t see,
You strive to stripe scales off your eyes.
Wait and wait,
Until the morning comes.
Be a sleeping water,
Look through the window of time,
You may see my words
In a wedding gown of reality,
Inviting you once again to an altar
where our wedlock of dreams once was broken,
But this time it may return in truce.
And when at last Bartimaeus can see,
Then you will realise I am your prophet.
But wait and wait,
Until the morning comes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem