1. |
I: L'aparició
05:25
|
|
||
|
Scented spirits drift by
like long-forgotten dreams
from an afterlife dominion.
No bouquet more sweet,
no entrance more alluring.
A diadem of faces
dances ‘round the summer moon.
Their voices oh so muffled,
like a blunt steel fang,
still they all remind her
of each syllable he sang
along the distant past.
Their voices oh so vivid,
like a horn suddenly rid of ancient rust.
A diadem of faces,
neverending.
|
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2. |
II: El rapte
07:00
|
|
||
|
They took her down the spiral staircase.
There was no sound.
Her only company:
marbly eyes from static sculptures.
Just a rustle,
just a presence
by the pond.
Her hands, deep in the water,
looking for an old dear friend,
an anxious lover.
Just a rustle,
just an absence
by the pond.
An opaqued mirror.
|
||||
3. |
III: L'endemà
06:59
|
|
||
|
The morning came
and the jealous old man couldn’t swallow his anger.
He made them look for her in every room,
behind every torn piece of wallpaper,
under the soil of every flower bed,
inside the core of every sunlight beam.
Blood dried in his veins,
finally realizing
she wasn’t drowned nor dead
nor lost in between dreams,
but free.
Per fi, per sempre.
|
||||
4. |
|
|||
|
Under the cold shroud of the earth
they made their way,
through the darkest netherworlds.
They leave nothing behind,
for material love is just
a human-faced specter.
A thousand relics laugh:
a bittersweet welcome.
They let her look again at all those faces
that brought her pain and joy.
«Behold your blood and your limbs,
your skin, made out of reveries».
«O, let me touch them again,
the one that made me blissful».
|
||||
5. |
|
|||
|
Along a river of dark waters
—like a vein clotted with blood—;
up through the darkest of woods
—like blood curdled with grieve—;
down through a thousand wells
—like a thousand chest-stabbing grieves—,
they went on.
Mirrors on either side,
broken and repaired
at once.
Voices answering each other
under ephemeral rain.
|
||||
6. |
VI: La il·luminació
07:07
|
|
||
|
At the final dark gate
of every shattered memory
a ray of light awakes
a most beautiful skeletal threnody.
It sings down the hall
and up the catacombs.
A diadem of faces
crowned by a circle of bones,
a deathly ornament
to obliterate the names of the living,
to resurrect the latent touch of the dead.
They took her through the melody
—that unsingable melody—
and danced with her.
Per fi, per sempre.
(… and their passion was eternal,
such as the gnawing of worms on rotting hands,
tightly woven together)
|
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Soliloque Barcelona, Spain
🗝️ Art Nouveau blackened rock from an agonizing city.
🗝️ A project by V.
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