ROSE OF DARKNESS / RUŽA TMICE

Pure, in it, repose essences
and from it emerges
the Light
a brilliant gurgle of becoming

Ready, you compose a major key
as feeling: smells sweet, the dawn
and every sound with some form joins
Symphony just germinated from dark
destroys the pathlessness of solitude (Where are
the roses of darkness?) 

You prepare yourself then slowly
after the sunset intrigue when are
the May-like, longest shadows
for invoking again the night
and frightens you not, its opacity

(May insomnia be the only fire of Gahanna
to burn you
and the dark of night
the only screen of being) 

For only in pitch-darkness are there no shadows
pure, in it repose essences
and Light
a brilliant gurgle of becoming
you feel, smells sweet in dark
the black rose of metaphysics

(rose of darkness)


p u r i f i c a t i o n

As if you are not alive any more
Instead of ear-drum
in that hollow that was once
infamously inhabited by the words
swarms of bees now build their comb
 
You taste their honey (o, perfection of silence
on your lips)
slowly, healing yourself
 
Sinful your eyes remained on the cover
with which the things hid before you
their innocence

Only now you possess them in whole purity
tasting in honey metamorphosed
their pollen malt 

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