Silent Mark - Poem by Cecilia Borromeo
Another day is here and my hands are still covered
with a mantle of stoic ink
words scribbled on a hesitant paper
wishing to be read now not later.
I want you to see this point-like light from an abyss
growing tongues tasting the wind
feel like the knife scraping soft butter
and see that small things matter.
But i still have no sense of complete abandon
to let the ink burn, to let it leak
until it forms a crystallized dew
becoming, at last, your scar tissue.
Comments about Silent Mark by Cecilia Borromeo
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.