(no madness here) I am Ophelia


It’s blood on the water lilies.
where crime is celebrated crimson

Over the circus hearth at Golgotha,
erect in deathless truth
both the reaper and the sower;
I pray silently with a black marble cross
like the seeds sown in a cooling magma
There is enough saint’s blood in this tone. It’s maddening, screeching, and demonic.

Die cheerfully.
Be not frightened by revelation or impatience
come Uranus moon, don’t feel terrified
Gray clouds sail by. Ophelia dreams: the waters are floatin’.
Lie fluffily on gray parquet, as if you were a yellow rag doll
A Cuckoo’s nest of instruments that sound like a zither,
a martyr is born.
Somewhere the harp is humming.
A lunatic is grieving for her lost dream.

(no madness here) I am Ophelia
Oh, reverend, sick and naked, oh, weakness, disheveled hair
oh you, unfortunate passive cry, caryatid suffering
For three already bloody summers drowning in desperate silence,

finish it!..

Ophelia in the fourth act of Hamlet is demonstrably insane, but the direct cause of her slipped sanity is something that remains debatable. © a day ago, Leila Samarrai    death • free-ve

(no madness here) I am Ophelia
Images tangled in a blur of blurred lines.
Relaxed among the diving veils…

It’s blood on the water lilies.
where crime is celebrated crimson

Over the circus hearth at Golgotha,
erect in deathless truth
both the reaper and the sower;
I pray silently with a black marble cross
like the seeds sown in a cooling magma
There is enough saint’s blood in this tone. It’s maddening, screeching, and demonic.

Die cheerfully.
Be not frightened by revelation or impatience
come Uranus moon, don’t feel terrified
Gray clouds sail by. Ophelia dreams: the waters are floatin’.
Lie fluffily on gray parquet, as if you were a yellow rag doll
A Cuckoo’s nest of instruments that sound like a zither,
a martyr is born.
Somewhere the harp is humming.
A lunatic is grieving for her lost dream.

(no madness here) I am Ophelia
Oh, reverend, sick and naked, oh, weakness, disheveled hair
oh you, unfortunate passive cry, caryatid suffering
For three already bloody summers drowning in desperate silence,

finish it!..

Ophelia in the fourth act of Hamlet is demonstrably insane, but the direct cause of her slipped sanity is something that remains debatable. © a day ago, Leila Samarrai    death • free-ve

One thought on “(no madness here) I am Ophelia

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