Tuesday, June 25, 2024 22:44


In the beginning was the end.

-Are you all right, my Lady?
-I am dead, Sir…

I walked today in the cemetery, I like to sit on a corner of marble, to read the names and dates, to dream before the faded medallion depicting a young soldier fallen on the battlefield, the beautiful Daniela dead at birth or the baby in laces. “Eternal regrets” – words that are repeated on all the graves. Carved in marble, engraved in stone, sprinkled with colorful paper flowers or so beautifully calligraphed on those hearts of yore, enameled white with black stripes. Ever dead, the living are regretting you in black and other colors, they are confirming it to you one last time, but for which eternity? The living ones bend over the graves and grieve you, and their tears harden once with the tiles placed upon you, rusting with the iron of your grills and fading with the chrysanthemums. Do they think of the multitude of regrets buried under the ground with your remains?

Your remains? Do you hear us singing you litanies of regrets, unfulfilled dreams, sorrows of love, our failed lives, our lost illusions? Desperate hymn, lost in the evening wind. “Eternal regrets” and “Time passes, memories remain.” I like to talk to you politely, beloved dead lady, beautiful, recovered, mixed under your coat of dirt. Your ashes, your roots, your nails and your hair braided with clay, the rags of thy devoured lace, and even your empty orbits don’t frighten me. You are there, and nothing more. I do not think of you with horror: I, I myself shall someday be a destroyed body, gnawed; no poetic: I will not be a body, but ash to nourish the earth, and the star grass will grow over my head; no, I do not think of this. You’re under the ground and I’m above it, you are darkness and I’m still light, you’re sleeping when I can not find my sleep and do not know at all what you were looking for and what I’m looking for myself for so many years, so sure that I will not learn more than you. You are there, under my feet and you’re not hearing me, but you don’t care. Sleep, lovely dead, I’m watching you in my dreams and cry regrets over images…



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