Showing pleasure and joy
I perform hara-kiri
With an imaginary dagger.
I let the crimson, invisible blood
Escape from my body,
And I wave my hands
To help it flow away.
I am proud of it
Like of a smart son,
And I want to touch it
Once more before I leave.
I feel it cold and hard,
Begging me to stay,
Forcing me to knell.
I want to catch my breath
But instead of air
I inhale blood dust.
The night is a shrine and
I dream that I dream
Myself invoking the day.

Mirel Brisca

If you've any comments on this poem, Mirel Brisca would be pleased to hear from you.