Lighthouse Caretaker

I have prepared my table and set the tumblers
When does the unknown visitor come?
And I have stoked the small lanterns
With the remaining shining oil
Will it be a long waiting? Will the waiting takes long?
I am waiting for the ship of ghosts, driven by winds
In the last hours before the halt of last time
In fathomless silence of the hour
When morning breaks
As a blade over water,
When fear makes no bird to fly
In the darkness of vision
I will ride the gigantic wave of horror
And disappear in the vastly abysmal sea of darkness
I am waiting for the coming visitor
To come with no footsteps
Knock at my door as usual and coolly enter
I am waiting for the obscure promised protected by thunders
And winds
Time is about to ripe
Vacant is the long horizon with no ship to shadow
The existence appears as fully tightened arrow
With no signal to leave
Lighthouses of the worlds soundlessly collapsed and the wind
After the lady of emptiness and every permissible vector
Over the chart of the sky, planets changed passages
Now thousand of referring to annihilation compasses is lying
Drawing on the delusion course its short worried line
No adventure is there
It is the abstract loss in the open
I remember the dead
And their tear colour in the chill
(They might have all been innocents before that)
Neither due to hunger nor thirst, had they perished
Save thirsty were they,
They ceased to be for being illusion-stricken
The pretty sea bird has no form
And the killed may bleed no blood
I remember the hidden cities in the seas
I remember the dead,
Sunken ships, treasures
Refined golden bars, glistening eyes
Beautiful hair locks
Scattering
In the bottom,
And the thin fingers of the crushed hands
Widely opened, clutching no waves
In the shady winds
The glossy round medals are scattered
In the bottom,
Acknowledging pirate leaders weapons,
How many a time, I went by night digging in there
That death layers,
Tracing the dead-trove in the stillness
Questioning the dead to see what was to be and what is to be
Smelling the odour of the remotest entire stillness
I want
Neither to act again
The throes of ages experience
Nor to be cut by tension´-or-nailed down by attendance
I envisioned Adam in his wretchedness and accompanied armies in their most gigantic conquests, heavily burdened with thousands of coffins
I sang thousands of seasons
And wandered in the realm of beauty
And reached the extremes of the impossible
Seeing majestic cities how to be demolished in hide
Enough seeing and I was the only living witness
In thousand massacres of no memory,
I was standing with the evening
Contemplating the reddening sun, the day was Eid
Where the loudspeakers said: "Every man here is guilty"
Until proven innocent
I heard the invaders bugles bustles
In the long night
And saw how souls were deformed generation after generation
Startled by the glistening of my mirror: I might be like metamorphoses ,
As a metamorphosis persuaded by shadows
So surprised of a tear in the heart that refrains to fall
Are the tears, however thin, enough to elegize beauty?
Time sensed a shiver in the wind
Reflected by the rocks
Time detected a wave drifting from the most ancient ages
Time realized that I was not alone
The brave heart knows
That the visions are accomplished and about to revolve is the horizon
I am waiting for the most critical moment
The orbit will be closing
And the black clock will get paralyzed and frozen on the wall
I am waiting
The black clock ticks the pulse of a remote rhythm
Its pendulum is worriedly swinging,
To the right
To the left
To the right
To the left
To the left.

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