Each night, without exception,
I communicate with the dead,
My body burns with fever
As they come inside my head.
Some camouflage themselves as dreams,
But I know they are my ghosts –
From days of war that I have lived,
And a few from older poems I wrote.
Some have come for vengeance –
Others understand –
Some are afraid of been alone,
And a few of them are friends.
Amongst them is a woman,
That years ago I could not save,
So some nights when the others leave,
We fall once more, into embrace.
© Fingleton (Mai 2016) (Löst Viking)
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Löst-Viking/746104845419195
It is what is ‘unsaid’ in Fingleton’s poetry that captures our interest.Also,his ability to’capture’ a thought or a situation with as few words as possible,makes him as an impressive poet.There is,in T.S. Eliot’s phrase, an ‘objective correlative’ in his verse.
I will have to be careful Vijay, you might get a glimse of my soul.
An adventurous work that treads through deep existential questions with poetic poise and confidence.
Thank you so much Louis.
Haunting and poignant, good and bad of life (and after) that transcends into the other realm with ease.
Kamlesh, I thank you for reading and your kind comment