Voices
lost in the vague remembrance of the past, but a muted echo of them remains. And
I treasure a river of forgotten voices… in my storm of the soul which blows
ferociously with vengeance of women, cleaning these bones from my flesh. And
all I have left are my bones…
The
heart says no when the brain says yes. And I reach that point, all hairs go
instantly gray, face wrinkles in pain, and heart stops in dry cry. When there
is life without future, when worlds face the end of love. And my wretched soul
always has to say no…
The
childhood of my existence is every woman, spiraling in these dynamics of my
life, chaotically jumbled by choice and it has to stay exactly like that,
untidy and confused… when this soul doesn’t need peace or absolution; it needs:
cure, sin... and more time.
