The Weaver’s song
Time is suspended in the silence of space,
where stars blink millennia
then die into nothingness.
But for me who still holds a lover’s soul
every minute is a lifetime
three hundred fifty-five days of emptiness
Sometimes a day more.
Once in a year
I can kiss my last lover’s lips,
they taste like stardust.
It is less love than
a memory of fondness
but this is the only thing that keeps me
The magpies of heaven
are rustling their wings,
building a bridge on the endless sky.
Distance is gaping under my feet
like a deep wound.
I pray for no rain.
Fanni Sütő is a writer, poet, dreamer in her mid-twenties, who believes in fairy tales even if they are dark, disenchanted and deconstructed. She writes about everything which comes in her way or goes bump in the night. She has been published in Hungary, the US, the UK and Australia.