Blessed morning, you cascade
Roaring lightfalls in this room.
How can pain make me afraid,
Dead already, in my tomb?
Well, perhaps you can ignite
Buried sparks from ash and dust
Since the lilac and the light
Still swell longing in your breast.
When I lift your veil, you show
Lines of quiet, forms of grace
In shelves of books, row on row –
Then the whole room’s careworn face.
Yet, there’s something still I miss
From this crib without a cross,
A smile on darling lips, the kiss
Of flowers in a waterglass.
Blessed morning, while you dress
This room in your translucent robe,
I have no fear of death’s caress.
Only give love back to this Job.
Everything you snap gets magical.
Your eyes give power to what they see.
Dragana, you are an artist I admire.
i like this one, feels on one side like the soft touch of a hand and all the good fealings that are going with it in life and on the other side chains are symbolick for me, mean death and painfull good by