Here death lingers.
Apologies, lovers of the laughter
and the kettledrum at the foot of Sinai,
lovers of the glory
and a heaven full of blessings
and manna falling down as crumbs
from the table of the almighty
sign of all times.
Here death lingers,
death, lingers,
death,
death,
death,
and there is no apology good enough,
derisory, pointless,
a dismissive gesture
garnished with good manners
seasoning the main course
that will be served in its more scorching
boiling point.
Everything fades,
smells, tastes, textures,
figures and colors,
spaces and times,
everything,
just death lingers
with its fierce, unbreakable promise
at the end of any eternity.
In this very moment, sprinkled
over bones and flesh
stained by the rust
of ancient embraces,
in this very hour, in this very attempt
to tame it under memory
and words.
Lingers.
Lingers.
Against the sweetest spell,
the most human one,
lingers.
Here,
devouring its own heart
and its own soul until death.
