Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Shadow of the Dying
What makes the heat drag and pump?
No, what makes the pulse pulsate, and drag?
How about the brain, what makes it stop?
It’s the shadow, your shadow, it’s dying!
For when you die, the friction of the shadow remains,
Yet it is drained, little by little, more and more,
Until there is no more: a kind of standstill takes place:
The body thus, being an empty shell, yet it remains
For a time being, it remains: it is all very elusive,
All very strange, but it nonetheless, remains!
The shape and nature of the shadow…vague!
They rest lightly clad at one’s feet—
Like a figure in an open window, awaiting a feast!
Like a dog waiting for his master down the street;
But when they’re dying, when the shadow is dying
Little by little, more and more, until there is no more—
They drag, and drag until their gone…!