Abandoning their armchairs,
stubbing out cigars,
swigging the final drop
of vintage port
they leave by the back stairs,
hanging a sign
on the closing door
as they go:
“See You At The Parade.”
Ghosts pass by
leaving the penthouse
of the mind,
no longer welcome.
Long squatting ended
they join the Felliniesque fandango
and pass on –
- animals and spirits,
crying phantoms
in wheelchairs and on stilts.
Ghosts pass by.
They turn their eyes my way
but no longer have a claim on me.
In wide hats, feather boas
and cloaks of stars
they stay no more,
cluttering bedrooms
for days and months and years
with swirling mists,
droning whispers and icy sighs.
Ghosts pass by
the darkened windows
of my night as I watch
their two dimensional
ambling with eyes of dawn.
The parade is long and
filled with fascinations, fears,
and the magics of moon
but I have cut the chain
and am exorcised by love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
but I have cut the chain and am exorcised by love. a beautiful poem, loved it.