A Being

You leaned against the wall of the summer courtyard you stared at some unknown point, in a corner of the air, — among the thin leaves dancing in the cool breeze — without seeing me beside you as I stared at your distant, silent gaze. What are you seeing there? Is it time: passing veil after veil before your eyes? Time without me — before me — that more than I drowned you in the caresses of its proud hands, kissed you? Scenes without me scenes that before me made you happy with cheers of praise, more than I? Silence. Silence. Are you staring at the passing of time? At the cold point of the end? Are you staring at the scythe of death falling on the breast of the cypress statue? Staring at the mouth of wailing, over the cold grave? Stunned by heartless time? Are you staring at the burnt earth, in the deserts of Kahrizak? From behind the veil of tears that you have kept hidden, from my eyes? Is it near, being buried in the circle of the black end? But you used to say the end is always near and always far. But you used to say it is useless to keep staring at the point of the end, before the end. You used to say silence is useless, before silence. I press my ear to your chest I hear the music of your heart: this sea is without silence I am a bubble clinging to you on the bed of your waves. I kiss you kiss you kiss you I accept the whiteness of your hair I accept your hidden tears your sorrow, I accept all your times: before me and without me, after me and with me, to the end ...