To confess to the sand hidden inside the hills
you ought to tame the grape vineyard;
Though neither night lightning, 
nor roaring thunders will help 
unless you bless their dormant roots
with small overdoses 
of silence.
"Abracadabra!"- a handful of darkness 
is secretly passed down
from one falling star to another,
wishing you, too, would become 
two tangent celestial bodies,
in the eyes of the stargazing clusters,
bitten by a contagious, sorcery bug, 
able to dry-clean all the tearstained, 
too-sentimental portraits of our youth,
brutally separated then fast-expelled
to unknown galaxies
covered in ancient grimes graves.
Spotlessly cleaned of any regret,
we are all heading towards a bridge,
one river-crossed continent
at a time,
Heart-aching with every last breath
Too eager to live a noble life,
We will die an estranged death.

Niciun comentariu:

Trimiteți un comentariu