Riddles VI (mærkeligt, or strange) by Maja Brahm

I remained sitting for a long time

in the old position on the prow,

watching the tallest flames fade

to a thin curtain of smoke

for three days.


it was for three hours,

day had some fragments

few dear moments

rocky grim and contour of the hills

too highly made.


I walked four hundred miles strip

to return only to realize

it was the distance of curiosity

between room and balcony,

crossed many times.


In the room

i see my shadow

curling upon papers

which are (h)ours

although detached.


I wonder should i break the silence

and say something

fire is made anew,

streaming warmth

and i hear:


– Are the logs dry?

– yes. write.

– Are you back out of your illusion?

– Yes. No. You have done no work

worth speaking of for two nights.

– You have done no work worth

speaking of for two days.

Why the devil that face?

– Read your piece and stop slouching

(Reads…genuine lull)

– Can one leave one sentence

to be disentangled some other day?

– I seem to have torn it up for you. You’re on fire.

– Yes i am.

– Don’t write. go back and correct your exercises

(unifying light of being

How like a movement in a still house beauty is

dark tremor in the act of love)


” Return into thyself dark creation, do no wrong

others light when you borrow

let not ashes possess thy song

if it takes all of thee,

you will not cry tomorrow.


(jumps into the fire..)

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