Silent Burial

Prayer and Meditation

Wandering through the twilight of summer past bundles of yellowed corn. Under whitewashed arches, where the swallow flew in and out, we drank fiery wine. Beautiful: O melancholy and purple laughter. Evening and the dark scents of green cool our glowing foreheads with shivers. Silver waters run down the steps of the forest, the night and speechless a forgotten life. Friend; the leafy footbridges into the village.

In the evening, when we walk on dark paths, our pale figures appear before us. when we are thirsty we drink the white waters of the pond, the sweetness of our sad childhood. We, the deceased, rest under the elder bushes, watch the gray gulls. Spring clouds rise over the dark city, silent of the monks' nobler times. When I took your small hands, you softly opened your round eyes, that was a long time ago. But when dark euphony haunts the soul, you appear white in the friend's autumn landscape.

Big yellow leaves are hanging on the cherry tree in front of my window on this July morning, I dreamed. When I came home from work in the evening, everything was as usual. I ate something, I read something. And then I looked outside: the cherry tree was gone. But there is no connection there. Definitely not. It can... It can't be. I call! All my voices are echoless. This is an old, noisy forest. Yes, I breathe, but nothing stirs or resonates. Live, for I can still listen and rage. Isn't that a forest? That a dream glow? Is this the autumn that silently flows on? That was a forest!

A forest of all elemental power. Then there was a fire that I saw getting closer and closer. I can remember, remember, just remember. My forest was dead. I lisped to strange linden trees, And a spring bubbled within me. Now I stare into the dream, the rigid forest ghost. My silence, alas, is by no means unlimited. I can't find the echoing silence in any forest.