Scorching

A sad poem, a hopeless prayer, a poem about destiny and time.

do cover my sleep with stones

you stranger in a blue coat

if you have a light touch

they will become hearth baked bread

round between shoulders and hips

 

my life is a hot oven

as long as I will sleep the dough will be softer

slowly it will froth again

I will be just a salt grain in the middle

kneaded inside

 

don’t ask for my name

don’t  wake me up at any cost

don’t cry if you will hear me whining

like a baby in a trough

I will vanish within the boiling leaven

 

keep your tears safe

you must have the heart to liquefy

that small bead of yeast

left in the end