Bhatt - Poppies in Translation

There was a pill for infants with a little bit of opium just a little bit, that he was given for his sleep, for his digestion all those years ago. The doctor says its too late now. Morphine is what he needs, and yet, it cannot help him any more. He was a man in a song, a man from anywhere He is a man I know Perhaps your memories crave morphine. Your mind, your brain cells miss opiums deep purple shadows. Perhaps morphine needs your brain cells to fulfil its destiny.

Those secret loves of molecules who knows what happens? * Look at the ravaged fields blood-soaked Can you truly say these red poppies heal? These common, red, wild poppies? Heal what this earth, your heart? Again, how the red poppies remind you of the others, the white and the purple the ones filled with opium You feel these red poppies with their black souls in the wind bring echoes of opium from somewhere, from somewhere, you say * Mohn, Mohnblauer Schlafmohn Memories of black seeds fine sand in your mouth Memories of black seeds with butter and sugar and flour * wir lieben einander wie Mohn und Gedchtnis In the story, this story Im reading today, the lovers I worship live with poppies, red poppies, harmless ones Now they speak dark words to each other Words they will write down for us to read. It is the lovers who call their words dark Not me I merely try to listen I merely try to follow their story. Obscure words, they speak. Simply dark, dark They speak as if they have seen the Mysteries. It is darkness itself that they speak How it slides like silk across their limbs Darkness itself I see them half-asleep, half-awake Who said what? They speak softly Not menacing words, not grave words. Not ghostly, not haunted words, but purely dark, as in a dark colour.

Why? Why? I ask myself. Is it because they think there will never be enough light for them? But the words shout back that they