the book in Esperanto

I always know for sure when it is full Sunday
by the way my viscera is folded and covered inside
the sun cannot be caught today it’s like a fearful hedgehog but
things still have a soft velvety shadow
Ophelia still sings lullabies for the garden snails in their shell
hiding behind wild raspberry and whitewashed walls healing sighs
that won’t yield their soul from the rib cage
Daniel still fights dreams and clutches the dragon’s horns
after all Heraclitus was not right
in my brain there’s a gold mine a thick vein searched over and over
by miners with lamps in their hands and mining helmets
always at the same foraging point

from all these in the end only love will be left
love as a pure ore for you – my wingless love good folks Samaritans
for every wound crossroads pathway all of them leading towards the sun
since a good age onward

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Categories: My Poems in 2015, Uncategorized | Tags: , | Leave a comment

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