As Long As I Am Alive, I Can Speak of Death

time melts down in the death obsession decays with death death awakens me in the state of absolute tranquility, tranquility not even bothered by the buzzing in my ears I was thinking that death lives only in the heart of one who wanted to keep cherished memories but, alas; will diminish one day like ripples carried by the water however, on some occasions, death throws its shadow becoming an uncontrollable passion, it bursts into flame and flows in the wilderness as a stream of molten rock; then comes together to become a mound of ashes and scatters in the air blown by a gust to yield naught which may be the linkage to never perishing another life so what do you have to do with meeting death, it’s nothing but the shadow of the moon that hanged on a limb of a tree; what about dialogue with death, it’s only a whisper you made to a star actually, death is the resignation of self with closing eyes in the dark that is darker than the darkest hour yonder horizon; death is time ceased in an abysmal chasm where water neither moves nor stands still but has petrified and become gentle waves in the sea over the edge of a mound of fossils still and all, when the dead one’s thoughts are floating on the quiet water it becomes a raging billow higher than a mountain and swallows the sea an irresistible yearning for the departed occurs in the heart of the living one, if death is the four seasons that alive walk stepping on the time of oblivion as the subsequence to a hatred, no one can torment death; no one can shake open death’s eyes I wonder who said those clever things on death? “how wonderful is death, …pale as yonder waning moon with lips of lurid blue, ….”1 “sleep is lovely, death is better still, ….”2 as long as one is alive one can talk about death death most beautiful; death would be beautiful forever 1. Shelley: Queen Mab 2. Quote from Heine