August 10, 2010 » Sedam/Seven
Lives of a clipping, Wrong Star |
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I'm on a break from ALL mailing, social networking and even instant messaging until I'm done with mild overdue, moderately overdue and insanely overdue; otherwise I wouldn't be able to look at anyone's eyes. But when there's a piece of writing, there's a piece of writing and it has to go online once.
There's no A character in here. There's B and a bunch of others. One of them has made a couple of appearances inside and outside of Wrong Star, and another, my signature evil character, has appeared only in Roses All Around Europe where I promised not to let them appear anywhere again. But they're necessary for this story. Either way, B is the last of the five speakers here and obviously giving some sort of orders at the end. I am not sure who the fourth speaker is, but I think it's pretty benign compared to the first three.
And, of course, there always is a different way to read it. It can be in the past and, for a change, it can be NOW. It is never said if there was an occurence of whatever is referred to as "seven" before or not.
Sedam
Sedam je sveti broj...
ima ga ovamo, ima ga tamo,
sedam vodi do beskrajnog svetla.
Devet neba, kažu?
Zašto bismo brojali čak do devet?
To je previše.
Ja ne znam da brojim dalje od sedam.
Kad bi bilo broja osam,
zamisli kako divno
bi sve bilo!
Skakali bismo unaokolo u ludim bojama.
Kad bi bilo broja devet,
zamisli kako dobro
bi sve bilo!
Bili bismo zvezdana prašina u drugim galaksijama.
U pravu ste!
Možda bismo videli odakle dolaze naše misli.
Jednom.
Jednog dana, bićemo sami sebi gorivo,
kao što su nama praistorijske životinje.
Otom-potom....
Nagazimo do sedam,
rasturimo sedmo nebo!
Nagazimo do sedam,
rasturimo sedmo nebo!
Nagazimo do sedam,
rasturimo sedmo nebo!
Nagazimo do sedam,
rasturimo sedmo nebo!
____________________
Seven
Seven is the holy number...
It's found here, it's found there,
Seven leads you to the endless light.
Nine heavens, they say?
And why would we ever count up to nine?
That's too much.
I can't count further than seven.
If there ever was eight,
Imagine how great
Everything would be!
Prancing around in crazy colours.
If there ever was nine,
Imagine how fine
Everything would be,
We would be stardust in other galaxies.
You're right!
Perhaps we'd see where our thoughts come from.
Someday.
One day, we'll be our own fuel,
Just like prehistoric animals are to us now.
But anyway....
Crank it up to seven,
Trash the seventh heaven!
Crank it up to seven,
Trash the seventh heaven!
Crank it up to seven,
Trash the seventh heaven!
Crank it up to seven,
Trash the seventh heaven!
Iva is the owner of this blog. She's a web designer who loves poetry way too much and won't stop writing it. She also runs a couple of other websites, such as this one.
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The skull behind your pretty face
is buried in a fleshy case
Locked in cells that multiply
Living life until you die
The blood that moves into your face
first must pass the hardest gate
This life of yours and so much toil
until your skull is in the soil
Maybe you think that life goes on
even after your skull is gone
Maybe you think that life is best
to believe in magic and nonsense
People think that they don’t die
their soul goes up into the sky
and floats with birds in clouds of gold
It's funny to think that’s what you're told
You’re living life for eternity
something that you cannot see
a silly possibility
that life goes on to infinity