So let us speak of death.
Not in a covert way
With muffled metaphors
That bind to time in Space.
What’s it for you in song?
When form lets go and formless wave
Can’t be contained by eyes?
Where does it stand in Now?
Or rather, if not Now
How is it even real?
(What is real?)
Or is death a trick,
One of the poles
Supporting magic screen
Of sights and sounds?
And all these words should fly and fade
And be scattered in the winds…
The senses seem to dull,
Does it invite the Quiet,
Compels to look inside?
And yet, the ancient Sokar’s tale
Shows us how Ra — Sun’s path
Of death brings us new Light.
The cycle does not stop
Until, perhaps, it’s broken by a stronger light,
As wisemen tell us who are watching stars,
Feet firmly on the ground…
The steaming tea of words, of questions, seep
Through a fresh crack in my favourite cup.
See, in the very core of immortality
There stands a parent tree,
It nourishes the seedlings,
Feeds them light and mindful caress,
Even if it gets later weakened by the storms…
Now tell me, where is that death?
Does it somehow dwell
Between One’s In and Out breath?
***I asked to speak of death,
But now with all my heart I wish
To hear you speaking of Sea,
Of beaches and of trees,
Of you, will you, please, do…
Anna Krasko 2026
P.S. voor mijn onvoorstelbaar mooie familie, dank dat je naast me staat, zit, bent en jouw tranen, lachen en het Zijn met me deelt
Mitakuye Oyasin, wij zijn allemaal familie
Foto: Anna Krasko
