TRISTIA by Victor Sea

In the morning the seagulls scream in a frenzy, Their white shadows on the facades Whisper anxiously in the windows about death, But no one will cancel the date. Every day I wake up further away. The days are fading like mussel shells. Less stupid bravado and falsehood And the exile Ovid** is getting closer. Wastelands on the outskirts of life Overgrown with deserted melancholy. The days crawl like faceless slugs, They wash away my chaos with monotony. I wander longer and more often In cities unfamiliar to the point of pain. What is my soul sleeping alive for? Forgotten the failed roles. Are you sleeping, soul? You didn’t want this, You ate to your heart’s content and breathed the forbidden. Is that really not enough? Now you breathe colorless air. My father is clean-shaven, but hollow, A huge crown obscures the sun, Smiles, waves - cheerful, As if alive, only the appearance of Nazon. What, Nazon, is your song sung? The path to the sovereign Rome is blocked. Returning is a bad omen, Eternity blows on a puny back. I myself feel the chill, The endless distances have become leaky, I cannot contain myself in my mortal body And, as if the mooring lines have been cast off. Give me your hand, it rocks mercilessly, This world is not for us - Intravenously, totally, subcutaneously. Worn out - only sorrows and dampness. Victor Sea

Genre

Jazz & Blues