Riposte Mary Madec

Riposte

After The Song of Songs

These words of how love is strong as death are a lie and on the mountains of spices the cold winds have blown the sweet perfumes away, so that he who searches for me, in the streets of his dreams, will not find me.

I have gone into the flowing streams of Lebanon and washed my soul of all grief. I have washed my soul where the flowers of love first took root, where the doves cuddled in the cranny of the cliff.

Now where the shadows stretch in the evening from the peak of Amana, from the peaks of Senir and Hermon I shout my goodbyes to him, the singer of songs.

May he read between the scarlet of my lips I am gone. I sleep but my heart is awake. When he calls I will hear him but I will not give answer.

Mary Madec

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