Emil Asdurian: Death

 

Time’s death or death’s time! Since there is nothing

like it, at the level of a cell’s mold gel, where squelch

is closer to birth! The first sign for both is a gasp!

Both lit undoubtedly an amber, that burns invisible,

controlled and restrained in a clockwise manner!

Is life a residual, that goes on unstopped but reusing

what scythe left on top, to slowly imbibed by the rootlets

under? The raw minuscule leftovers dropping at sand’s

wet margins, so closely embedded into each other,

while like algae float on waves or descend like heavy

skeletons at the mud’s grave! The yet, undiscovered

unconscious memory that inextricably links them!

Like art, in layers! Linked to their magic texture sets,

so when they crumble, the spontaneous energy, as their

bodies grovel, freely spread among each other, simply

by a gradient, as the living feed the dead …

A cycle of sticky tars perpetually purified in small

droplets of oils and acets, that perhaps for the first time,

defy Sun’s night and the Moon’s tide, from therein, by

their own rhythm. As both in a certain instant jump into

a higher state of being, like planets from cosmic dust,

to a bubble, that like a sarcophagus guards its treasure

inside, from a screeching sound to a poetic tongue, as

now vanish, if not at all, in a different time, sealed in

their heart!

EA 7/21/23 from the volume “of Time and Beings” all rights and copy rights are protected.