We close her eyes
we kiss her forehead
then darkness for eternity.
An ashen moon
drips blood on thirteen
white carnations
and
four crippled swallows
pull her chariot
up to a wounded sky.
she rises to the heavens
she is one with the angels
she is one with the stars
Chants and prayers
'earth to earth'
'ashes to ashes'
'dust to dust'
olive leaves
burning in the censer.
Her grave
unsated, gaping,
it commands its dues—
a body
a scattering of earth
a glass of oil
a slice of bread
then we walk away
and she is all alone
she rises to the heavens
she is one with the angels
she is one with the stars
and
fifteen tear-soaked carnations
mourn the fateful day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent death poem. I enjoyed it (although it's kind of strange to enjoy something that has to do with death)
Thank you for your kind comment.