Monday, 25 April 2016

Inner Rose

Stop my friend,
Stop,
You are pathetic,
Your skin is pink
There is a rest smile on your face
Your ears are butterflies,
Is that really you?


There is a lot of everything,
Thousands of poems,
Of tangled hands,
Children,
Children born every day
From a huge print machine.
All those thoughts
Fall on me, as a town,
Each idea is a building,
Ten families in each flat,
Five people in each family,
A million memories in each one's mind,
Oh friend,
All of this fall on me,
Like an eternal rain,
With your voice,
Whispering to me.


When last spring came,
I asked you:
Why there is a black point on the horizon?
You laugh,
That filled me with emptiness,
Our bed turned to old woman skin,
A long black river
Run between us,
Filled everything,
My mouth,
The old woman skin,
It abolished the shadows,


And you kept laughing,
I screamed:
You are a shadow,
Nothing but a shadow,
A parasite, an owed to the light
Your head is ashtray,
Your ears are clef,
A collect of scrap.


But you ignored me,
Putting a rose
In eyes of a one-eyed dog.




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