the dead are risen

the dead are risen

walking with us,

risen from ashes, from graves,

risen out of rubble and wars,

the dead are risen,

walking on water,

flying above houses,

resting in our gardens

there is no way

without dead children,

without loss,

without pain

there is no way, no way

but with the dead

because they are never,

never, never dead

they live with us, in us,

around us, they hate

and they love, they

are lost and present,

enigma, riddle, guardian

and seducer in the maze

of pain and pain and pain.

the dead are risen.

when we embrace them,

we embrace life.

who will embrace us

if not the dead?

the ones living

are busy living, surviving,

they see death coming

and time running

they have no arms,

stuck in their life, poor

and naked, they cannot

embrace us as we are.

only the dead can, 

only in us, inside.

all love is like

a small small light

in busy times,

for days, for hours,

for now, all else is

unreal construction,

Babel, dreams of design,

architecture, the throne

of arrogance, confusion,

ultimate loneliness.

no control, no pencil

to draw the path of pain,

of joy, cicadas, pine trees 

and the scent of this one woman.

i , me, i gave up,

no more hopes, dreams,

just to let the dead be:

i cannot call them.

the dead are risen,

i kiss them, 

i hope, i wish

they smile.

i will smile

and be silent

in my own time,

when i shall rise.

my time will come

as yours. not yet,

not yet, all is Babel,

all is moving, we sink,

first we sink.