读书笔记四

1. Preface

From Waiting for godot by Samuel Beckett.^[1]

2. Content

It’s so we won’t think.
We have that excuse.
It’s so we won’t hear.
We have our reasons.
All the dead voices.
They make a noise like wings.
Like leaves.
Like sand.
Like leaves.
They all speak at once.
Each one to itself.
Rather they whisper.
They rustle.
They murmur.
They rustle.
What do they say?
They talk about their lives.
To have lived is not enough for them.
They have to talk about it.
To be dead is not enough for them.
It is not sufficient.
They make a noise like feathers .
Like leaves.
Likes ashes.
Like leaves.