Summary

The text is a poignant reflection on the author's internal journey and the impact of their thoughts and actions on others, set against the backdrop of a metaphorical cemetery and the passage of time.

Abstract

The author, R Tsambounieri Talarantas, pens a contemplative piece that uses vivid imagery to convey a sense of introspection and melancholy. The narrative speaks to a follower or observer who is drawn to the author's complex emotions and thought processes, likened to a path through a cemetery. As darkness falls, the author advises caution to this follower, warning of the perils of becoming entangled in the aftermath of their contemplations and the insignificance of worldly concerns in the grand scheme of time. The author's reflections are deeply personal, as they mourn the loss of something unspecified and express a desire to ease the burden of their love, who is weighed down by the heaviness of life and time. The piece concludes with the author acknowledging the constant presence of their love in their thoughts, yet not influencing their moral compass.

Opinions

The author believes their journey is fraught with complexity and potentially hazardous for others to follow.
There is a sense of futility in the author's tone regarding worldly matters and their significance.
The author feels a deep connection and responsibility towards their love, wanting to alleviate their sorrow.
The text suggests a reverence for the past and a respectful detachment from the material world.
The author's conscience remains untouched by the observer's presence, indicating a strong sense of personal ethics.

The Incident

Incidentally, I find no reason why you follow my winding footsteps —

lit by my blind pathos, through the cemeteries,

carved in the elemental virtues of my mind,

You follow ever closer brushing up against my irritating thoughts — of

this but perhaps not — of that

It’s getting dark now, I’d advise you to turn away, the thistled road

ahead is strewn with after matter,

after hours trading matters insignificant to the margins of time, but

suspended, threatening to forever hold you in the figments of

some imaginative godless endeavor

I’ve just come to place wilting blooms upon their grave, and

then I too will go, respectfully,

Ahhhh, my love, my love, my love,

how do you idle your time beneath

the weight of the ponderous rain,

the deathly veil of time meridian,

Ahhhh, my love, my love, my love,

If you’ll allow me I will lighten your load,

My threnodies, to undisturb your restless repose,

“You are always on my diligent mind, but

never ever on the leaning posture of my

conscience”.