anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
metaphorformetaphor
That’s how it is: those who leave
are never remembered by unrequited lovers,
never missed by the lonely poplars in autumn.
I’ve made it to this next life,
as an exotic bird I’ve learnt to speak
this gentle language of oblivion,
of severed names.
Kapka Kassabova, from “Associations,” All Roads Lead to the Sea
