Saturday, October 8, 2011

Notes on Trance

He is there,
Stock on an instant
Outside the door
While the teacher speaks
Dead words in the background.
He plays half unwillingly
With unfinished thoughts,
Reaching the abyss,
Nowhere and everywhere.

He is there,
Trapped in seconds
By the sound of leaves,
By the strong breeze blown.
His unfixed eyes,
The horrid blankness in his face
Reveal the void, his absent mind.
Wake him up, wake him.
What have they done
To one so young?

He is here,
There,
And everywhere,
With a belt of memories
Too heavy on the waist,
With every step realizing
How he has died
So many times.
How he is not the one before
Nor any other anymore.

Copies and copies of him
Now speak in his head,
Piling up words,
Dead bodies without end.
How is this truth?
How he has found himself?
It is unfairly simple to just say
That through time Victor realized
He needed not wake.

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