Black coffee in a white cup with withered petals and leaves on its saucer, a lit black candle; surreal paper collage of a faceless person wrapped in colourful cloth who sits on a dark sun that emits blue rays; torn black paper with stars as sky, and red torn paper as the ground.

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Day Of The Dead

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Epitaph Of The Ghost

“On 2 November we will celebrate the DAY OF THE DEAD💀, thus this little poem.”

Epitaph Of The Ghost
I sit above and look down below
It’s all dust and tiny things
Everything’s so blurry
And here I am, cold and scared
I am looking for my body
Have you seen my body?
I’ve forgotten to return home
And the thread that linked us 
Has suddenly been broken
I sit above and look down below
I hear voices that rear passion,
And suddenly they make me remember
The body I’ve lost along the way
Perhaps it is waiting for me, my body,
I think of it wrapped in white linen
Incensed, and filled with beautiful flowers 
Resting fiercely on a concrete altar
Body in a warm and shiny room
I sit above and look down below 
Suddenly I don’t feel cold anymore 
There’s a warm something embracing me
While my fears, they all disappear
Is it time for me to go elsewhere
As to rest my tired heart and soul?
Am I ready to fly away, to become a star
And fall again on this part of Earth?
To be sowed and reaped and moulded again
And recommence there, where I ended.


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