Gwyneth Lewis – Ⅳ
Angel of Dying
‘A young boy dying on a ward in Kabul
wouldn’t stop singing – made music from screams,
wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t drink, but chanted dreams
in ferocious head notes. He frightened us all
but held his dying like a torch of flame
for us to follow. Arches leapt darkly overhead,
threw shadows over us. He led
on past comfort, past reason or blame
with that terrible energy of the dead
whose death is more life than flesh can bear,
a birth, not an ending. This truth tore
the living to pieces. Then silence sang of him instead…
I’ve never forgotten him. No, don’t ask
about dying. How to live is the task.’
‘A young boy dying on a ward in Kabul
wouldn’t stop singing – made music from screams,
wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t drink, but chanted dreams
in ferocious head notes. He frightened us all
but held his dying like a torch of flame
for us to follow. Arches leapt darkly overhead,
threw shadows over us. He led
on past comfort, past reason or blame
with that terrible energy of the dead
whose death is more life than flesh can bear,
a birth, not an ending. This truth tore
the living to pieces. Then silence sang of him instead…
I’ve never forgotten him. No, don’t ask
about dying. How to live is the task.’