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The sand swirls the seconds in a gentle ash whirlwind
The sand swirls the seconds in a gentle ash whirlwind
time blows its song upon the columns of a deaf temple
the king of memories scatters his crown on dry sand
the vassal of regret carries silences in sacks of heavy light
each moment pulses in the palm like a glass fish
I hear the future tremble under the eyelid of a washed sky
grain by grain, the hourglass digs a path through me
no one stops the flow, no one prays enough
in the heart of the glass, a torrent murmurs silent litanies
behold the burning gift: a torch that comforts no one
I weave my steps from traces not yet born
the desert in the soul sprouts buds of pastel golden illusion
love waves a white flag between two gentle eclipses
words collapse, leaving fine seeds of blazing dust
time has no shoulders for anyone to ever cry on
yet I look at it like an angel with filigree wings
it calls me to walk on the thin bridge of empty nights
I stumble over the past, clutch it in my pocket like a coin
the future, a mute monarch, signs decrees with shadow ink
and the present, a serene blind man, touches my cold cheeks
under the eyelids, a gate opens to a circular desert
there, the grains sing psalms I forget to the end
through the flow of consciousness, a barefoot child of hope dances
and in the end, everything sleeps under a bell of light
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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