(no subject)
God I can't really take this. What the fuck is wrong with this earth?
Not losing hope
תשמרו על עצמכם!
אוהבת
כרמל
...And we left our childhood to the butterfly
when we left a few drops of olive oil on the stair
but we forgot to greet the mint everywhere
and we forgot to secretly greet our tomorrow.
The ink of midday was white
were it not for the butterfly's book fluttering around us.
Butterfly! Sister of yourself, be what you desire
before my longing, and after.
But let me be a brother to your wing, that my madness might remain fevered.
Butterfly, born of yourself,
don't let others decide my fate. Don't abandon me.
From one sky to another the dreamers pass--
the butterfly's attendants carry mirrors of water.
We could be what we should be.
From one sky to another the dreamers pass.
The butterfly spins her garment on a needle of light, to decorate her
comedy. The butterfly is born of herself and dances in the flame of
her tragedy.
Half phoenix, what touched her touched us:
an obscure similarity between light and fire--and between two paths.
No. Our love is neither foolishness nor wisdom.
And thus, from one sky to another the dreamers pass and pass and
pass forever.
The butterfly is water longing to fly. It filters
from the sweat of young girls and grows intoa cloud of memory.
The butterfly is what the poem doesn't say.
Her very lightness breaks words, as dreams break dreamers.
Let it be so! let our tomorrow be present with us.
Let our yesterday be present with us.
Let today be present in the feast of this day
set for the butterfly's celebration,
and let the dreamers pass from one sky to another.
From one sky to another the dreamers pass.
Not losing hope
תשמרו על עצמכם!
אוהבת
כרמל
...And we left our childhood to the butterfly
when we left a few drops of olive oil on the stair
but we forgot to greet the mint everywhere
and we forgot to secretly greet our tomorrow.
The ink of midday was white
were it not for the butterfly's book fluttering around us.
Butterfly! Sister of yourself, be what you desire
before my longing, and after.
But let me be a brother to your wing, that my madness might remain fevered.
Butterfly, born of yourself,
don't let others decide my fate. Don't abandon me.
From one sky to another the dreamers pass--
the butterfly's attendants carry mirrors of water.
We could be what we should be.
From one sky to another the dreamers pass.
The butterfly spins her garment on a needle of light, to decorate her
comedy. The butterfly is born of herself and dances in the flame of
her tragedy.
Half phoenix, what touched her touched us:
an obscure similarity between light and fire--and between two paths.
No. Our love is neither foolishness nor wisdom.
And thus, from one sky to another the dreamers pass and pass and
pass forever.
The butterfly is water longing to fly. It filters
from the sweat of young girls and grows intoa cloud of memory.
The butterfly is what the poem doesn't say.
Her very lightness breaks words, as dreams break dreamers.
Let it be so! let our tomorrow be present with us.
Let our yesterday be present with us.
Let today be present in the feast of this day
set for the butterfly's celebration,
and let the dreamers pass from one sky to another.
From one sky to another the dreamers pass.