I. I buried my songs in a wooden hut
and in the shade of scented candles I saw the Trisagion grieve in the young girl's tears. It's so hard for me to bear this burden. Who will still weep for her in forty days from now? It’s far too soon to ask me such questions— I want to wait for dusk and for the kind priest. II. I have about me the scent of spikenard and basil and the holy father chained me to the cantor's solemn voice. I don't want to hear the cantor’s voice anymore. The cantor's stifled eulogy disturbs my sleep. I don't want to hear the church bells' sombre beat. The wailing of the bells disturbs my sleep. My eyelids are heavy with feasting beetles.
I want to wrap around me a century and a night of silence and sleep beyond the words and all the noise of the cantor's chants.
Part of the cycle of poems thirteen silk verses
A few words about the poem…
A Century of Sleep | Exploring Grief and Acceptance | Cyprus Poems
In "A Century of Sleep," the poet considers profound themes, offering a contemplative exploration of grief's complexity. This death and grief poem stands within the series Thirteen Silk Verses, a part of the larger collection of Cyprus Poems.
Grief is an inevitable part of the human experience. No matter who we are or where we come from, we will all experience the loss of a loved one at some point in our lives. Yet, despite its universality, grief remains a difficult and often isolating experience. In times of mourning, we may feel as though no one else can truly understand our pain.
Through the power of language, poets can articulate the complex emotions of grief and offer a sense of solace and connection to those who are struggling. The death poem "A Century of Sleep", the poet’s favourite work, is an exploration of the experience of loss. Drawing on the rich traditions of death poetry, it attempts to capture the essence of grief in a series of vivid and evocative images.
Through metaphor we see the Trisagion grieving in the young girl's tears and we feel the weight of the burden of grief, and the overwhelming sense of loss that permeates every moment. Yet, through it all, there is a sense of hope - the hope that comes from the knowledge that we are not alone in our sorrow, that others have walked this path before us and emerged stronger on the other side.
The second part of "A Century of Sleep" takes us on a journey beyond the realm of the living. Here, we are given a glimpse into the mind of the deceased girl as she comes to terms with her own passing. In stark contrast to the grief and mourning of the living, the girl is at peace, tired of the sombre rituals and ready to embrace the silence and solitude of death.
Through the eyes of the girl, we see death not as an end, but as a new beginning. She longs for the quiet and stillness that comes with her new existence, away from the noise and chaos of the world. The cantor's voice and the sombre beat of the church bells, once a source of comfort and solace, now disturb her sleep. Instead, she seeks a century of silence and rest, a chance to escape from the words and the noise of the world.
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