by Robie Kulokivi of weretco
from The Olive Bird
Such a deep silence surrounds me, that I think I hear
moonbeams striking on
the windows.
In my chest,
a strange voice is awakened
and a song plays
inside me
a longing that is not mine.
They say that ancestors, dead before their time,
with young blood still
in their veins,
with great passion in
their blood,
with the sun still
burning in their blood
come,
come to continue to
live
within us
their unfinished
lives.
Such a deep silence surrounds me, that I think I hear
moonbeams striking on
the windows.
O, who knows, soul of mine, in which chest you will sing
you also, after
centuries,
in soft ropes of
silence,
on harps of obscurity
- the drowned longing
and the pleasure of living torn? Who knows?
Who knows?
‘Silence’ by Lucian Blaga
Lucian Blaga (May 9, 1895 - May 6, 1961) The ninth son of a
parish priest, Blaga grew to become one of Romania's foremost poets and philosophers.
Born in Transylvania, his father died in 1908 leaving the family destitute and
forcing Blaga to leave secondary school. Until the age of four he purportedly
never uttered a word; a period of his childhood that he later described as, ‘under
the sign of the incredible absence of word’ and ‘mute as a swan’.
by Charles Barnes of clbphoto
from Weibler Wire Sculpture
