Mother Night

I need to see your real face, Night;

Don’t wear your thick makeup of candlelight

Or reassure me with the ticking of the clock

Counting seconds in fear till the arrival of the morning;

/

I dream to speak to you in your tongue

Of heavy silence that makes tears fall,

When from the darkest corners of the lives forgotten

One’s every demon into their lap crawls;

/

I wish to rest my head against your chest,

Not watch you cautiously through windows and walls,

As if from freedom in a self-built cell

Locking myself until another tomorrow;
/

I want to love you like you do me,

And yet how can I with this plastic toy of a heart?

I want to know you like you know me,

And yet how can I with this mad clown of a mind?

/

At dusk I put all my past doubts to sleep,

Turn off the lights in my old home

And go back to you, Night, for you feel to me

Like to a prodigal daughter – her first Mother

The Night

I am entangled in the silence of the night

And, come the day, I hear it my speech;

I am abandoned at the mercy of scarce lights

Which try and fail to keep the dark at bay;

/

I know the end of all that now begins:

The night has told me that each word repeats itself

And change is an illusion, which they teach

To us, who hide from nights between the sheets;

/

And sleeping through the quiet, through the dark

We only open our eyes when dawn sweeps clear

The sky, and fills the air with sounds of life,

More fleeting than the silence of the night

The Cocoon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This night,

It hasn’t dressed me for the morning:

I’m still in a cocoon

Of interwoven blacks and blues

/

Staring at dawn,

I cannot feel daylight returning,

Or touching me –

It’s just a colour, of no use

/

To me,

A terribly disturbed spectator,

Watching an artist’s brush,

Envying him his muse

/

To me,

Self-tried and sentenced perpetrator,

Sharing the maze-like cell

With my self-righteous jury

/

Tonight

I put my hands over my eyes and

I sew them up

With threads as strong as needles

/

I lock my nightmares

From the outside world within me:

They’ll be

The only things I see for years

/

I’ll write of them

And paint them with my blind hands;

One day

I’ll hear you ask me: ‘what is that?’

/

I won’t reply;

With monsters pushing through

My numb lips,

I’ll go to sleep in my cocoon instead