Song For A Moray 5: Age

Poem By Michel Galiana

You have surged from my deepest night
But it's night that swells your bosom
An echo follows the faint light
Are you that star that took to flight
Or the herdsman who goads it on

The Ports of the Levant of love
Are the marks on my roundabout
Way to mystery. I must rove
Endlessly but I shall disclose
The sunny side of the dark route

Unswerving like a torpedo
Or a sword pointing to the breast
Well you know the straight way to go
And you topple in vertigo
What lying lips strove to erect

Lost with all arms lost with all hands
I sunk in this Sargasso sea
And was left fully despondent
In long uncalled-for retirement
And ever interrupted sleep

My fair angel and conqueress
You have pierced my heart with your lance
I fell with helmet, and fight dress
And on my bare loneliness
Opens the thick gate of silence

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Whether the night haunts him or as a mask hides him,
No matter, he knows where prey and fear lie in wait.
Poacher whose skill daylight disregards as base cheat,
But whose widened pupils know not of our chasm.

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A coat of screams and yells lines a rug of ember,
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When he perceives the pole wrung by his panic fears,
He climbs up to the top and hopes to recover.

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Where fervour was captured in stone and in pageant,
Were a jail roofed with slate and with epic legend
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I Passed
A carapace harbouring sheer silence,
It smelled of mud and silt, motionless on the path,
A shell where nights gather, if not a cenotaph,

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I was caught in a whirl, with loud shouts and drum rolls,
Flags streaming in the wind, delirious prophecies,
Squirting blood... Suddenly, from their feasts I was torn
And fell into rest which ignores time and worries.

The Weaver Of Fate

Neither call nor silence nor sleep have a threshold
Whereon your walk ceases and becomes flight or fall.
The song of a child is so faint and seems to rise
From the source of your pride.