My home in the moonlight
When I open my door
Fresh timber and clay
Waiting in the new sunlight for me
‘Perch over a high branch, my soul bird,
and watch!’
The free spirit unraveling into a small home.
The chimney smokes now and then
And the laughter spills now and then
The coffee mugs were there since long,
the little holders of energizing memory;
painted with the blood that once belonged in my veins.
This whimsical cottage is my life
Hung from its ceiling, the tiny trills
Unsung festivities of a solo soul
There are no pinks decorating my walls
but only the olive green of
life mixed with death.
Sleeping in the high loft is an ancient ghost,
fast asleep and dreaming of green pastures.
It’s my heart, everyone thought didn’t exist.
Despite how many times you try to kill it,
always finds its way back to where my food cooks.
The narrow verandah for my guests;
So rusty and cracking ,
that only the gentle ones are welcome.
And what cooks within, has to be served soon
Got no refrigeration for a later meal.
As night comes by with its starry blanket
My home awaits my soul bird.
But for many nights lately
It has gone to lands far and strange,
It’s squeaks already a memory.
On those nights that it came back,
Oh how the home rejoiced!
How the lights shone in the dark!
with happiness like fireflies,
dancing around the lamps;
More would die
But more would come.
The new happinesses flying
over the old ones’ corpses..
~ zero.