tragedia in that ravine

night and twilight

11.12

At the edge of the abyss, their hands trembled—
two wounded souls, two kindred hearts.
With sweet tears, with guilt on their skin,
they look at each other knowing the end comes with him.
She, bloodied; he, stained as well,
but the love that burns them cannot understand the reason.

The police are chasing them, a shadow touches them,
and the world collapses in their broken night.
Sirens rumble, splitting the wind,
death calls to them with a soft lament.
He takes her hand; she closes her eyes—
two lost lovers, two red hearts.
There is no tomorrow, no step forward,
only the final leap, the vow that matters.

They kiss without kissing, they say goodbye,
and the sea claims them, hungry and fierce.

She was not the hand that killed in the scene,
yet her dress carries the unjust sentence.
He hid the body, desperate in love,
accomplice to a crime that never was his.
They both hold on to the same lie,
life burns them; guilt watches.

And together they choose to die without trembling:
if the world breaks them, they will break in the sea.

They jump embraced, fused, surrendered,
like two meteors falling in defeat.
The air cuts them, the void swallows them,
and the water kisses them with a cold kiss.
He rises toward the light; the sea returns him,
but his soul trembles, his heart is dying.

He searches among the waves, shouting her name,
but the sea is jealous and does not give back its man.

He throws himself again, drowned in madness,
fury screaming for him to break the darkness.
But she does not return; her body is gone,
the tide wraps her, death gives her away.
Pain tears him apart, leaving him empty,
the salt on his lips is all the cold he feels.
And as he breathes without wanting to,
life weighs on him—he does not want to keep it.

A motor approaches; reality barks.
The night shatters; the police seize him.
Handcuffs shining like a cruel display,
putting out the fury that burned in his night.
He doesn’t fight, doesn’t scream, doesn’t try to flee—
if his soul is dead, what is left to save?
They lift him without hurry, strengthless on his feet,
he remembers only her last “maybe.”

They ask about her, about crime, about blood—
they want him to speak, to shout, to bend.
But he stays silent; his voice belongs elsewhere,
silence protects what little remains of their dream.
He will not say she never killed,
that the hidden murderer cast his guilt away.
That it was he who hid the body in sleepless fear,
and that the true culprit walks the earth.

So they take him, lost, defeated,
with a broken heart, yet never fully yielded.
Because within his silence, like advancing thunder,
a promise is born: sweet vengeance.
Not for justice, not for redemption,
but for the love that was his prison.
And though the sea stole his reason and his life…
the murderer’s shadow still hides.

End