Talk About The Dead Being Born

Poem By Algimantas Mackus

Here's one place torture broke down.
I frown and am reassured
God is on our side.
Gott mit uns.

While a transcendent moonlight
plied the low window sunshine hides behind
with blunt common sense,

I set off on an eternal
honeymoon with death.
Winter surprised us:
for all the snow that fell we took no notice.
(Yes, angel, still snowing.)

Winter is the time to give birth,
while confined in a place pain wore down:
full term by chill moonglow just to take on
a feel for alien seasons.

Children who die have a need
to go on believing; don't they, angel?
Children with no more life in them
still need fairy tales, don't they?

The reserves being called in
with God on our side
are riotsquad angels.

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Other poems of MACKUS

Dying Is Strange

The one night I got to spend enjoying spring
would have to be the one I hit the dirt,
though the dew had turned green earlier,
much greener than anything that spring.

In Triumph

And death won't be won over.
Dead men don't turn back
once their elbows prop rubble,
with the north moon's north eye

From A Misty Autumn Morning

I never loved the earth.
I meant to leave it
to its loneliness.

In Mourning

Right at seven that morning
right then at seven a.m.
it was that morning at seven
death had to have homage shown.


I would lift your body into the crown of a green tree
if I had a tree