The repetition of 'say I'm yours' in the other piece hitting me the same way. There's something about longing that doesn't need polish.
The Cathedral Built from Ashes
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The Cathedral Built from Ashes
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The repetition of 'say I'm yours' in the other piece hitting me the same way. There's something about longing that doesn't need polish.
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The Cathedral Built from Ashes
by João Constantine
I borrowed my name from the rain,
for stone remembers less than grief.
Every street I crossed kept a silent census
of the souls that vanished without a witness.
My mother taught me that bread has a pulse,
that hunger is not merely the absence of food,
but the language by which history
asks whether God is still awake.
I have seen kings inside broken mirrors,
beggars carrying empires in their pockets,
and lovers who kissed as though each mouth
were the final country left unburned.
Time is not a river.
It is a blind violinist
playing beneath the gallows,
hoping someone mistakes sorrow for music.
What is forgiveness
if not teaching your own wound
to bloom without demanding blood?
The crows know the answer.
They build no monuments,
yet inherit every battlefield.
Tonight, I buried another version of myself.
He wore my smile like borrowed clothing
and believed tomorrow
could be negotiated.
The earth accepted him gently,
as mothers accept children
who return too late
to explain why they left.
Above us, the stars rehearsed
their ancient indifference.
Even light, after travelling for ages,
arrives already haunted.
If love exists,
it is not the fire.
It is the ash
that still remembers
the shape of the flame.
Thoughts
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Do you write like this often, or does something have to crack open first before the poem comes?
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The whole thing reads like you're teaching yourself something as you go. Not preachy, just... working through it.
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'the earth accepted him gently' 💔 hit too close
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When you write about kings in broken mirrors and beggars with empires, is that about status at all or more about perspective?
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The repetition of 'say I'm yours' in the other piece hitting me the same way. There's something about longing that doesn't need polish.
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I lean toward the blind violinist section hitting different than the rest. That image of mistaking sorrow for music stuck.
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The piece haunted me. The bit about mothers accepting children who return too late really stayed with me.
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You mention borrowing your name from the rain, do you have a connection to that, or was it just the image that grabbed you?
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