Lilac Fragrance Poem by Maria Mitea

I was wondering today if something is wrong with me
if I'm normal
healthy

it doesn't happen to me
It doesn't

I can't write anymore about shadows
cemeteries
crests
I can't write like I used to
about darkness
onions
also, I haven't written about my mother and father for a long time
honestly, I want
I really want to write about death
I'm not afraid, on the contrary
I have a special relationship with death as only I know
but I can't
nothing happens in this domain, that makes me jealous
makes me grief, makes me frustrated, euphoric, then lazy,
lazy, again, makes me laugh, and so on …

Yes, maybe …

maybe I'm already a shadow stabbed by the light of death
maybe I'm already dead all over everything I know
rotten body,
rotten eyes, liver already eaten by worms,
heart pierced by gravediggers, a nest for spiders
rotten hands
and I don't need to write anymore

maybe this chapter has already ended on its own as a wound closes on its own
ended in a flood of rivers without causing too much damage

maybe as Noah did, I took a cat and a pigeon,
an eagle, a goat, a cow… and I went on the ship,
or maybe
already, at this moment with a feather tip
I touch, caress the shadows of others through your eyes
now, as you read, I wake up dead
I'm taking her to the waters
I give her light baths
I spray her with the lilac fragrance
I bring her to ecstasy

maybe I'm already a current, the flow of the wave
without creating major floods
loss
or other natural disasters

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