Love among the ruins
It is all a wreckage,
our ruined lives
with illness and decrepitude all round us,
suffering and pain just about everywhere
and crying out aloud
like chained lunatics in a madhouse
carefully tied down with leather stripes
with no limb capable of even moving
as if you could tie down the human pains and sufferings;
and we are separated, shamefully to say as usual,
and can do nothing but in spite of all reach out
and have our love in common
like the rarest orchid suffocating in this darkness
of a dense spruce forest in the winter snows;
and still it lives, survives and does continue forward
in its kind illusion and naïvety
believing it could spread its beauty everywhere,
while the spruce forest darkness only answers with a compact silence.
Still she lives, and while she lives,
and as long as she lives she triumphs.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2007-01-31 at 10:06
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