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Ballad of a Non-Dead

It can be said it’s just an accident
that he did vanish on his twenty first
thus for the treachery he underwent
by people just like him or better nursed
the wedding feast has turned into a wake
food has been set upon the tablecloth
and all the guests secretive winks now make
awaiting for the fatty chicken-broth
the bitter cold makes marrow ossify
under the nose and each adjacent joint
it’s turning into ice now by and by
the dead will not rise up at any point
the widow over the dead body speaks
and from her eye she wipes a dropping tear
beloved husband still we have our streaks
at a bank in Switzerland so have no fear
and having dipped her lips in glass of wine
she puts a kiss upon his forehead white
and on his bluish lips now squeezed in a line
as if gone silent when the time was right
and in a study as if in a vault
upon some scales a holy spider sleeps
pointing midnight on the orbit by default
but seconds pass and hours go by time keeps
elapsing golden years shall slip away
and yellow piles of paper sheets it seems
have turned to dust and intertwine today
as if a merchant’s offer to sell dreams:
about a crowning of a bird of prey
about democracy that’s linked to him
about skilled clerks who work without delay
idea of the meaning of amen
about those people who have more than a dim
this ballad thought sings of the fools in a trance
about the all-I-care-is-acorn men
who have forgotten how to leap and dance.


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