Αναρτήσεις
Second step: perfect fourth
Hidden in the smallest of hours
where no god's big hand can reach
an evil witch under a drape of lead
is laying down the cards
the future appears drop by drop
like beads of sweat on a forehead I touched once
"The future, the present and the past," roars the witch, "are a shadow that's cast."
Released by night's soft grasp
the hermit's face emerged a darker dark
his tight hermit's mouth whispered forbidden words
his bony hermit's hand reached for another man
his tired hermit's eyes closed shut.
It was a ritual, the summoning of a ghost
leaves rustled, branches creaked, birds took flight
and there he was, the hanged man, on his feet
holding his rope as if it were a tail
the evil witch drew her last
"The tower is change", she said, while melting into fog,
"Lightning strikes, time is flame, nothing stays.
And Only love and death change all things*.
I played my best hand,
for they are a perfect fit, the hermit and the hanged man.
Now jump, go ahead. Let me rest."
In the smallest of hours we took the longing stride,
perfect fourth, going down
like a dive.
*K Gibran
