If they snatch my ink and pen,
I should not complain,
For I have dipped my fingers
In the blood of my heart.
We Who Were Executed
I longed for your lips, dreamed of their roses:
I was hanged from the dry branch of the scaffold.
The Incarceration Of Loneliness
On the far horizon waved some flicker of light
My heart, a city of suffering, awoke in a state of dream
My eyes, turning restless, still dreaming,
the morning, dawning in this vacuous abode of separation
When Autumn Came
This is the way that autumn came to the trees:
it stripped them down to the skin,
left their ebony bodies naked.
It shook out their hearts, the yellow leaves,
Do Not Ask, My Love.....
Do not ask, my love, for the love we had before:
You existed, I told myself, so all existence shone,
Grief for me was you; the world’s grief was far.
Spring was ever renewed in your face:
Speak, your lips are free.
Speak, it is your own tongue.
Speak, it is your own body.
Speak, your life is still yours.