Laila’s Silence

I

Black letters
hanging aimlessly
beneath
the skinny lady
turn red
as the invisible words
from the letter
dance around me, tired.

Making their long way
from the past
shaving the time and
silence that lay
dusty on the tablet,
twelve years and
many brown crumbled
dry leaves later
they will be tired,
I assume.

II

Much of the
crazy looks
of the stubby face
the mirror is so used to
belongs to the past.
Change
   has been slow.

Searching about
in the empty bag,
I realise that
silence is the best word
when it comes to her.

The double headed
metal evil
speeds over the two veins
drilling the night with
a tunnel of light
and piercing
the silence ahead.

III

From the black of
the space
under the covering
comes the words.
I agree, it is time to go.
Drooling rain wets
the mud path
leading to
the rusty iron gates
that seem never to close,
for 
   it matters not.

As I walk away
from the gate
towards nothingness
wondering if
I turned to the left
or right,
With rain dripping
from its stretched arms,
against the dark back drop
the white crosses
stand silent.

(2001)