In the middle of the universe there is a night,
there is a day
It has long, waving, burning hair like yours,
Eyes color of dreams,
It fears light, the flowering into something else—
You should smell it,
You should touch it,
You should listen to it,
It’s your moment to be alive…
In the middle of the stars there is a life
Flowing backward,
From death to life and then to the first day
Where the flight started, where we first met
As astral birds, naked, wounded, bleeding,
Shining…
The seed is in your hands: your mother’s eyes,
Your father’s face, your child’s tender smile.
Who are you, stranger, whose joy rolls on my tongue
Like a bead of fire,
As I look at you, you enter history through my eyes
Or maybe myself multiplied by hundreds
Will be our history:
Ours, ours, slaves of human power
Of gravity, of hunger,
Parts always wanting the whole, whole always
Scattered in parts-
And I might end up in one fluttering wing,
This sound, this bubble bubbling around, ah, it’s all waste.
And you are asking: “What did you say?”
I am trying to raise my voice up to your tongue,
To fill up the gap between one heart and another,
I am already a part of my corpse,
A tiny letter in the book you have just closed.
By: Shalley (Instagram: @master_literature)