How many deaths are needed for a distraught heart to give in at last
and give up.
Only this time the songs will be allowed to play.
Later they will
fill the air of the brightly or softly lit room
The sound waves
bouncing around without expecting any
arrivals or departures.
Songs have their own existence,
Don't they?
Everytime the bricks were pushed
right into their place,
A reverse wind displaced some,
The wall could never be built,
despite the sweat and the turmoil.
Wall are needed
to be dimounted later,
so that the moonlight will fall
and will carry the contended souls on its wings,
to the purple paradise
of eternal mirth.
This is the last time
Someone stands under the canopy of trees
and waits for a call,
to hold an outstretched hand,
Until night deepens, the eyes will search
through the leaves,
waiting for a distant glimmer,
Then the waiting feet will
retreat, into the old haven, to fall asleep
until the new sun rose
and new wings opened.
