"I am going to Exist. To ex-ist...To ex-ist. Give me something to drink, for I am not thirsty!"
~ Fernando Pessoa
~ Fernando Pessoa
Chrysanthemum Refrain
I hesitate to write
the chrysanthemum song,
one of timbrel possibilities
amidst an oblique rain.
"Should you ask me if
I'm happy, I would
answer..."
a cascading gold,
a bronze bow
toward sunlight,
a lithesome lean
into a tremulous summer.
Yet, these are disquieting hours
beneath a tacit moon.
Have I failed?
beneath a tacit moon.
Have I failed?
I require short days
and long nights to tempt
flowering, to bloom
like the Emperor's seal,
the Queen of the Fall.
Do I really exist
in this occidental mystery?
in this occidental mystery?
Will days neatly line up
like cheery chrysanthemums
in the Festival of Happiness?
Or will I ex-ist
like a funeral bouquet,
lamentations and incurves,
burnt-orange requiems
of yesterday?
Should you ask me,
I have no answer, as yet,
but I have not failed ~
of yesterday?
Should you ask me,
I have no answer, as yet,
but I have not failed ~
only, I am thirsty.
Will you water me?
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