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■ Pașadine în vers alb (73)
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2009-10-27 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
Stricken down
A bird shot in its flight Cramped in a swing One breath One sigh With glassy eyes I die. Into the loving dust I lay My flesh washed back home by the rain I seep through vines And intertwined I breathe again. No longer is the sunshine warm No longer am I free to roam To soar alone in skies up high I never was afraid to die Yet here I lay No longer can I sing and tell I told so good, and sang so well That passers-by would stop and heed And nod and would impart my creed Walking away I think of things my elders told I was so young, yet ageless old My very blood, my feather’s shine Were yours, Forefather, they were thine Gifts for the bold Why did your bullet seek my heart? What joy may I now still impart Now that my blood taints red the snow Why did you shoot that hateful blow What made you start? And yet I’m free, but you are tied And you can’t run, nor can you hide Your deed is done, your hands are stained You may forget, but blood remained Marked on a sheet of space and time Some day, your blood will flow as mine That day, your debt will be erased No longer will you wander crazed With pain unknown.
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