Lamentos

در گوش دلم گفت فلک پنهانی حکمی که قضا بُود، ز من می‌دانی؟ در گردش خویش اگر مرا دست بُدی خود را برهاندمی ز سرگردانی خیام

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Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish Now are visions never to vanish From thy spirit shall they pass No more like dew-drop from the grass. Edgar Allan Poe

Thy soul shall find itself alone Mid dark thoughts of the grey tombstone Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy: Be silent in that solitude Which is not loneliness - for then The spirits of the dead who stood In life before thee are again In death around thee and their will Shall then overshadow thee: be still.

I was surrounded by the darkness Embraced by darkness So darkness I became And I evaporated into the eternal night sky Then met you there and I became nocturnal flare Echo the howl of the lonesome night.

I awakened to dryness and the ferns were dead, the potted plants yellow as corn; my woman was gone and the empty bottles like bled corpses surrounded me with their uselessness; the sun was still good, though, and my landlady’s note cracked in fine and undemanding yellowness; what was needed now was a good comedian, ancient style, a jester with jokes upon absurd pain; pain is absurd because it exists, nothing more; I shaved carefully with an old razor the man who had once been young and said to have genius; but that’s the tragedy of the leaves, the dead ferns, the dead plants; and I walked into a dark hall where the landlady stood execrating and final, sending me to hell, waving her fat, sweaty arms and screaming screaming for rent because the world has failed us both #Charles_Bukowski