Éloge funèbre à mon enfance

(by Anais La-Chon)

Today, I mount these stones

Upon a flattened hill.

They will reach the zenith,

Far, far beyond,

Where origins begin,

And Gods extend their finger,

Where ancestors rejoice

And stars grace these lands.

Where a promise of a future, 

Scattered seeds and

Motherly winds,

Lie in reach above my tomb.

I bury these pearls,

That roll from my cheeks,

A marvellous array

Of the finest jewels

Sleep beneath the forest

Of hopes and dreams,

Forgotten friends,

And besotted memories.

My beloved remains,

Whom none can soil

Are purer than the milky quartz

That rides the night,

They gleam brighter than bones,

And burn at the slightest touch.

So delicate and malleable,

So lovely and pitiful,

My child awaits beneath the tree

Of tears and slumber,

Longing for the fruit that never falls.

Today, I mount these stones

Upon a flattened hill.

They will reach the stars,

Far, far beyond,

Where Paradise sings,

And angels weep,

Where a promise of a future, 

Scattered seeds and

Motherly winds,

Lie in reach above my tomb.

I cover these thoughts,

These broken promises,

A thousand blessings,

Thereupon a thousand mishaps.

These little legs that chased the wind,

Until the flames of the earth

Turned into cold winter ashes,

Until the petals of a flower

Wilted under the burdened snow,

Until time crystallised my juvenile feet, 

Only then did I halt the dance

In this field of light!

Oh, my love! My sweet innocence,

Blissful ignorance!

My child, loyal to my ideals,

My child, whom time melted these wings,

I cry, and will cry for you,

This fountain has yet exhausted itself,

In roaring silence will I mourn for you,

In tempered storms will I pray for you,

Because in this tomb lies my perfect self,

Untouched, untroubled, unguarded,

The child who was I.

Today, I have built my grave.

My guilt pleads,

Begging,

But I have already turned into salt,

A grieving statue,

For my child is long gone,

Smouldered into ashes,

Still, the smoke curls towards the sky,

Unfurling beneath the apple tree,

In a final farewell,

In a final rite,

In a final breath, 

As my first and last sacrifice.

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