Sisters, wash my body, take the wedding rings off my fingers— for where I go, there is no use for gold. Close my lids, put my rings in the pockets of my beloved— they will burn his clothes, gold is in his heart; diamonds are his tears. Where I go it's lonely, oh my beloved, don't you follow me. He who reigns there is lonelier still, He decides who He is, yet there is nothing and no one above Him. I decide too, and that is my earthly gift, but above there is shining, and whisper of stars and wind— are you sure you decided right? Sisters, wash my body, and close my lids, hear the sound of drums— it's my heart pumping blood, listen how it stops. Three of us are so lonely, oh my beloved, Him, and you, and me. And the rings turn dust. Oh, but love doesn't die, my beloved, hear the sound of drums? Hear the sound of trumpets? Hear the sound of flute, hear the sound of grass, hear the sound of silence. An exquisite sound of silence I sing for you.
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PS I recorded myself, -it was a poem; but this time, they defined me as somebody singing and plucking a lute? (in my head, were drums)…in short, I started remixing, guess that’s the result I can live with, albeit different from how I recited it first.
Love, and thank you for being here, -stay safe, above all
AA
Transmuting grief into song..into gold
This is beautiful, Chen. That word may be too small for what you've created here, but it's the one that comes to mind.