and with the ink of my lost solitude
my lugubrious temper
my furious traits
I write thee
with the plumes of
the gloomiest dooms
I write thee
and with the colour of despair
that had ever since tinged every curve of the bosom
I colour thee
with the fragrants of
longing
tormenting
the "plaguest" of the plagues
the sediments of bygone years that yearn everlastingly
with all the paradoxes
the dilemmas
and
the unsilenced
undeaf
incomprehensible
mournful
mourn
I mourn me
and I scatter thee upon the grounds of purgatory
though I know
aye, I know
that wind shall contrive against me
and sow your seeds again
upon the land of me