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Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H. Auden, Funeral Blues

Nu este o farsa de 1 Aprilie, oricat de mult mi-as dori sa fi fost asa.

Nu ma intrebati “de ce?” daca atunci cand ma vedeti nu sunt eu insami. Nu ma intrebati cum ma simt sau ce s-a intamplat. Nu am cuvinte sa va raspund. Ignorati-ma daca ma vedeti trista sau departe si, pentru o vreme, fiti voi cei care aduc zambete.

Saptamana asta, la o zi distanta, mi-am luat adio de la doua suflete pe care le iubesc de-o viata.

Odihneasca-se in pace!

April 1, 2009 | Filed Under Personale

 

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