BEHIND THE GLASS

On  the other side is Freedom.
Here, the calm,
stillness,
the sweet solitude of whom expected,
like a broken flower,
resigned to die.
Behind the glass, life.
On this side, death
plunges his wounded stem
into the silent water
of dreams
that should never be.

Blanca Langa

I WANT TO DIE WHILE YOU LOVE ME, a poem by Georgia Johnson (1886-1966)

 I want to die while you love me,

While yet you hold  me fair,    

While laughter lies upon my lips

And lights are in my hair.

I want to die while you love me,

And bear to that still bed,

Your kisses turbulent, unspent,

To warm me when I´m dead.

I want to die while you love me,

Oh, who would care to live

Till love has nothing more to ask

And nothing more to give!

I want to die while you love me

And never, never see

The glory of this perfect day

Grow dim or cease to be.

DON´T CALL ME TODAY

PHOTO by Blanca Langa

Now, when I know  I will die alone,

That you won´t hold  me when I die.

That nobody´s going to hold my hands

                                            this afternoon

-because it will be a December afternoon

when I decide to go-, don´t call me.

I forgive you everything.

There´s nothing more to talk.

I continue dying.

I´ll still probably dreaming.

                                                                                        

  BLANCA LANGA