Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
(The picture was taken during my trip to Belitung. I was alone and felt so empty inside me. This morning when I was reading through the lines of one of H W Auden’s poems- regardless to the rumors that he was a gay, I still love his chosen words- I somehow caught the similar feeling of emptiness, as if I stood alone waiting for every second tick I heard from my camera. I just want to stop it.)