NOCTURNE

dream15.jpg (47657 bytes)

 

       The night is pricking the leaves with swords of rustle and over all horizons the silence’s minstrels are coming with the soft crickets’ song. All angels are gone and the rainfall is trembling in the fall’s midnight as the woman who cries in the light of the painfully burning thoughts.
        She’s lonely in the darkness and there’s nobody around to whom she could tell that only the rainfall embraced with cold handcuffs the wrists of her waiting hands. And the dishevelled rain wildly shakes the indifferent windows behind which she’s alone in the tears’ sleeplessness, knowing she will die forgotten, together with the unloved leaves, lost among the fall’s memories.
        The rainfall is slightly fading away slowly running on the windows, sighing as a prayer to be forgiven for the previous wildness. And she’s still there in the hostile night, widely opening her eyes towards strange images, starting to feel the cold thrill of the raindrops falling on the blind eyes of the statues. And the wax-like face turned her wet leaf eyes towards Where…
        She can not even follow her thoughts, because they all lead to Where in the misty night a dew-like hand is writing on a moon-like paper words… words… words… but no word for her…
        A red lightning flash bloomed on the sky tracing a fire bridge between Far and Near, but it faded too quickly away, without leaving behind any pale star to light the way to There for the silent lonely woman.
        There should have been another light more… so that the thought left on the fire way shortly seen in the lightning flash, could reach in time; otherwise, at the dawn she will turn into stone if no cool hand will carress her grass-like eyes…
        The night is strangely reflecting the human shapes with their soul chained by a thought; the kneeling woman started to look more and more as the Fall…
        The dawn is coming with thrilling steps… and the Sun, breaking up the night’s chains is caressing with delicate gold the late dew on the dead eyes of the statue stuck in the colour between dream and legend.

 

© Copyright reserved
No part(s) of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, transcribed, stored in a retrieval system, or translated into any language in any form by any means without the written permission of the author.

Romanian version

scoicahome.jpg (3321 bytes)

E-mail me

 

Page backgrounds © Lonely Shell