Death of a poet...

Death of a poet

The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and women deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth; while the north wind probed in contemplation of lying waste the gardens. There in the suburb stood an old hut heavily laden with snow and on the verge of collapsing. In a dark recess of that hovel was a poor bed in which a dying girl was lying, staring at the dim light of her oil lamp, made to flicker by the entering winds. She a woman in the spring of life who foresaw fully that the peaceful hour of freeing herself from the clutches of life was fast nearing, she was awaiting Death's visit gratefully, and upon her pale face appeared the dawn of hope; and on her lips a sorrowful smile; and in her eyes forgiveness.

She was a poet perishing from cancer in the city of living rich. She was placed on this earthly world to liven the hearts of woman with her beautiful and profound sayings. She a noble soul, sent by the Goddess of Understanding, to soothe and make gentle the human spirit, But alas! She gladly bade the cold earth farewell without receiving a smile from its strange occupants.

She was breathing her last breaths and had no one at her bedside save the oil lamp, her only companion, and some parchments upon which she had inscribed her heart's feelings. As she salvaged the remnants of her withering strength she lifted her hands heavenward; she moved her eyes hopelessly, as if wanting to penetrate the ceiling in order to see the stars from behind the veil of clouds.

And she said, "Come, oh beautiful Death; my soul is longing for you. Come close to me and unfasten the irons of life, for I am weary of dragging them. Come, oh sweet Death, and deliver me from my neighbors who looked upon me as a stranger because I interpret to them the language of the angels. Hurry, oh peaceful Death, and carry me from these multitudes who left me in the dark corner of oblivion because I do not bleed the weak as they do. Come, oh gentle Death, and enfold me under your white wings, for my friends are not in want of me. Embrace me, oh Death, full of love and mercy; let your lips touch my lips which never tasted a mother's kiss, nor touched a sister's cheeks, and long since I have caressed a sweetheart's fingertips. Come and take me, by beloved Death."

Then, at the bedside of the dying poet appeared an angel who possessed a supernatural and divine beauty, holding in her hand a wreath of lilies. She embraced the dying girl and closed her eyes so she could see no more, except with the eye of her spirit. The Angel impressed a deep, long and gentle kiss on the dying girl’s lips, a kiss so pure it left an eternal smile of fulfillment upon the dying girl’s lips. Then the hovel became empty and nothing was left in that cold room, save some old parchments and papers on which the poet had strewn her words with bitter futility.

Hundreds of years later, when the people of the city arose from the diseases slumber of ignorance and saw the dawn of knowledge; they erected a monument in the most beautiful garden of the city and celebrated a feast every year in honor of that poet, whose writings had freed them. Oh, how cruel is man's ignorance!

poetry by : Gary De klerk 

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