Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Wilma Stockenström

Welcome, stranger oblivion

Welcome, stranger oblivion. Do not be
afraid to expand your black void round me,
magnification of the darkness behind
my eyes. Life which I held up like a mirror
to record an inverted truth,
precise in proportion
to the size of the frame, has cracked,
shattered, shards cutting the corners
of my mouth. Thus I bid you welcome, good
death, your name, my last bloody
word, your anonymity a fulfillment.

Welcome, stranger oblivion

Welkom, vreemdeling vergetelheid. Skroom
nie om jou donker vakuum om my uit
te brei, vergroting van die duister agter
my ooglede. Die lewe wat ek soos \'n spieël
gevat het om \'n omgekeerde waarheid
op te teken, noukeurig in verhouding
tot die grootte van die raam, het gekraak,
uiteengespat in skerwe wat my mondhoeke
skeur. So heet ek jou welkom, goeie
dood, jou naam my laaste bloederige
woord, jou anonimiteit \'n vervulling.
Close

Welcome, stranger oblivion

Welcome, stranger oblivion. Do not be
afraid to expand your black void round me,
magnification of the darkness behind
my eyes. Life which I held up like a mirror
to record an inverted truth,
precise in proportion
to the size of the frame, has cracked,
shattered, shards cutting the corners
of my mouth. Thus I bid you welcome, good
death, your name, my last bloody
word, your anonymity a fulfillment.

Welcome, stranger oblivion

Welcome, stranger oblivion. Do not be
afraid to expand your black void round me,
magnification of the darkness behind
my eyes. Life which I held up like a mirror
to record an inverted truth,
precise in proportion
to the size of the frame, has cracked,
shattered, shards cutting the corners
of my mouth. Thus I bid you welcome, good
death, your name, my last bloody
word, your anonymity a fulfillment.
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