A poem for Volunteers and Doctors of Wars

The Bell

I just woke up in vision, sound around

Like last night from a tuning fork

This time it was a Bell

It came to mind that this art of connection

of music with the help to others

like Simone’s Weil perception of the world

In which she saw so much of beauty and delight

That all her life turned from the art to ethics

When heart is only live to give

This all is Bell where music IS the ethics

And so, my dream

That is not dream

But I cant hear it nomore

But I still hear me saying:

Sound around is real

remember

How we do not hear it

Its Judgemental day

It is eternal beauty 

And absolute deafness of us

We dont hear Bell

To whom they dwell, but hear

The sound of Fine de Claire

(Or Fin de Siecle) forks

If lucky — tuning ones

And so I lost my understanding how to speak

Unless im writing poems

How be remained in dialogue

When all I see that only now speak those

Who nothing have to say

(And I am one of them)

And those who do

Are busy saving lives.

2024