I am pervaded by the roots of a Magnolia.
All these years i have placed silence against my rage
and it’s a crime to withdraw the demand of a disruption.
I often see myself in a valley of old stories
where the labyrinth of my disappearance seems most real.
Now the roots of this ravaged flower enters into the bones
in slowness
in amplification
in the most virgin sorrow.
I don’t keep my shades,
I don’t magnify my stalled strings,
I don’t rape myself for the anatomy of this constant discontentment.
In a smoke filled room
I will end
I will drop
I will say the truth for one last time
with eyes
and for the knock of this rampant Magnolia.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Ulrika Ekblom.