Friday, July 15, 2011

The Year Gone By

Returning to this year,
all the years ahead
wishing to return to this year,
this one year
this one best year
this one, passed, best year
this only perfect year in my life
with all its imperfection

wishing to return to this year;
dreaming of it at nights and
writing books about it in the
early hours of the afternoon
alone with myself and a cup of tea
(i will never get drunk on coffee
tea will always remain my drink
as a habit you shaped in me
as a symbol of all the habits that you shaped in me)

this year will remain with me
as it was
golden, blue, green,
with little flakes of snow
here and there;

like that cup of tea
that red, brownish, cup of leaves
soaking in water as if drowning
drowning and dead
wishing to rise again,
this year will always remain with me

None of it will move in my head
none of it will differ
none of it will become better
or will get eternal

this year as it was
with leaves of red here and there
and little shades of white on the ground

this year
as it was
as it will always be,
eternally be
with all its mortality.

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