A bird is flying,
But I see only the flight in itself,
The movement.
I close my eyes and I can touch it,
I close my eyes and I can feel it.
The sound of motion hurts my ear.
It is a movement in itself,
And inside of me,
It is like a scream.
Someone shoots
The wing of the bird,
And I feel the movement of the air,
Generated by the falling bird.
I understand, in a second,
My love for you.
It is a relic of a feeling
Slipped into that place from where the white bird
Collapsed.
I'm thinking of a soul collapsing from the moment to eternity.
My thinking keeps your name.
It remains, seemingly, attached to that place
As a red stain on the blue sky.
That blueness needs to become whitish.
Between the eyelids,
Only pain can be continuously crushed
And transformed into tears.
Between the saints,
Only God gathers perfect feelings,
Our feelings,
That makes us be capable to reach Him.
Marieta Maglas
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unfinished-requiem/
