Sunday, March 18, 2012
and what is the colour of black
Black is the colour of my true love's words, that cover me in stillness; black is the colour of of her wish for me to die; and black are the fires that burn for me. Black-winged raven of my soul, feeding on my lack of being, the sunken bones of our past...And black is the colour of my true love's heart
~~~
Great singing here. You can still hear strains of some folk origin, some long-lost highland ballad; and then there's urban funk, mixed up with the African-which is to say the timelessly human-chant for the lost one.
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3 comments:
Ouch, B...don't know, but this one? Soul-wrenching & beautifully so. But, really, sort of twilight at dawn, or darkness at noon kind of beauty.
U ok, B?
sorry, been ill so couldn't respond to your comment-not that i would know how to respond to it anyway!
first rule on the bs: never take anything i say seriously.
second rule: well, the first says it all really!
gotta run.
Keep well,
b.
Now, should the rule be taken seriously? Is nothing really nothing?
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