I have gone as far as to imagine a curtain hiding the stage from the audience- there is a large flower inside a jar upon the curtain.
Drawn, the curtain keeps the outlines of the jar only, while a swirl of characters and situations slowly configurate the flower on the stage.
Here is Whispers, Poem 5:
The past is whispering its unforgotten, buried, dreams
The present is replying with remorse and pity
Upon a stall, a seller’s selling, for a trifle, some expensive things
Arrayed, there wait some flowers in bunches withered,
and fruit preserved for cold winter in transparent jars
A man is blocked in supervising from afar, away,
unless the flowers withered get their water vase,
unless the fruit preserved gets out and dries wane,
unless the seller finds an opening for thought and taking part
The past sends, one by one, its flowers and their stories
The present shows, one by one, its practically precious jars
Their whispers come across and dash to reach their unknown homes
Life’s products, made to be consumed, to rot, or wither, stay behind
The past is whispering its unforgotten, buried, dreams
The present is replying with remorse and pity
Upon a stall, a seller’s selling, for a trifle, some expensive things
Arrayed, there wait some flowers in bunches withered,
and fruit preserved for cold winter in transparent jars
V.P.T. 3.10.2009
