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ZIMELKOR / OUTGOING TIDE

A few words of farewell
bits of life

your hair is a silver spring
though you don’t have anyone to brush it for you
those wrinkles have been plowed by all you have gone through
you miss the after-dinner chats
of your companion
idiots turned into television stars

these years feel like the remnants of an end
full steam ahead
with seconds that feel like centuries

first signs of oblivion:
mis-matched shoes on your feed
burnt pots in the kitchen

you carve out some words of farewell
on the gravestone of values lost
on the wheels full of mud
of this world that goes too quickly
a few last words
on the chest of flesh and blood people
“I’m about to go, but look after your own”

Even the future is dressed up as a memory
memory lies
and those words that long ago fell into disuse
still seem beautiful to you in spite of everything
condemned to recognise that treasure precious to just a few
will sink with you
in that arrogant abyss of an ocean
in that oblivion
toll
rest
that we call death

a whole life spent working
to get nothing in return for what you deserve
everything achieved is gradually withering
we are world, so outgoing tide
don’t have any doubt:
no one is saved

© 1994-2018 Berri Txarrak | berritxarrak@berritxarrak.net



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