To Rodolfo Schudeck
These lines are thrown to the air for a friend who can’t read them.
Dear Rodolfo, you can’t sense the changing season,
And you can’t listen to Schubert,
Any more.
You will not discover anything else about life.
Or the far past.
You don’t know that the world seems the same.
That someone is laughing loud,
That many a joy are so vain.
The rest of us linger a bit longer,
Just enough to catch a few more things,
Just as an unexplained possibility:
To enjoy and to endure this consciousness.
Dear Rodolfo, you can’t sense the changing season,
And you can’t listen to Schubert,
Any more.
You will not discover anything else about life.
Or the far past.
You don’t know that the world seems the same.
That someone is laughing loud,
That many a joy are so vain.
The rest of us linger a bit longer,
Just enough to catch a few more things,
Just as an unexplained possibility:
To enjoy and to endure this consciousness.
posted by PoloBoro at Friday, June 02, 2006
1 Comments:
Maybe he will, but we can´t know, see, listen or feel. Death is life in another place.
Will you call me to have a tea cup in Le flaubert, and talk about your wedding, yours dreams and all the new things that are filling your spirit and your mind.
My name is Grace, and I am your friend forever, wherever the too of us would be.
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