Thursday, 24 March 2016

poetic fragments op. 49

Words of birds

I really get tired of
Human words.
Asking back murmured words is
Also annoying,
Listening to
Pride and servility in words is worthless.
Words of birds are my favorite.
They are pure and orotund,
And have neither polite, humbling, nor respectful ones.
That’s because birds have no classes like us.
No need for them for
The art of expressions of overtones
with accents and intonations.
After all their words have no lies.
Words of birds are my choice,
Though I can’t pronounce regrettably.
Hearing them doesn’t make sense of their real world,
Translating them into human words.
The language is in the first place
The translated thing,
Benjamin said.
Nature is a language,
Morrisey said.
Nonetheless I wonder what the truth is.
Listening to the words of bulbuls,
Lying spread-eagled on the tatami floor in early autumn
Like this,

I find the secret of the world:
Being is sound.

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