'Strange flower'

 

 

 

The rain of light

That from the network of endless vestibule was falling down

 

On the tile of the wall, it was washing a flower.

The black snake of the stem of this flower

Was alive in a malleable and delicate dance.

You said that the burning ink of this dance

Was dripped in the throat of this black snake.

The strange flower was alive

In a mysterious world,

A world to the end of a blue disconnection.

 

During childhood

In the bend of the roof of verandas,

In through the colorful glass of windows,

In between the spots on the walls,

Whenever my eyes were involuntarily in search of an unknown thing

I saw a similar to this strange plant

And every time I went to pick it up

My dream was flickered.

 

My grimace stuck on the black texture of this plant

And felt the warmth of its veins;

All my life dripped in the throat of the strange plant.

The strange plant had a different life.

Is this flower

Which was grown in the soil of all my dreams

Knew an old child,

Or maybe it was me who dripped in that,

Who was lost?

 

My grimace was stuck on the brittle stem of the plant.

Only to its stem one could hang.

How was it possible to pick up

A flower, which would wither a dream?

The hand of my shadow was crept up there.

The blue heart of tiles pulsed.

The rain of light stood still;

And my dream was gone.

 

         

 

Reviews

[Sharkapillar]

Wow. Just...wow.