lunes, 12 de noviembre de 2007

QUESTIONS

War echoes
burnt the glittering butterfly,
my stomach is ashen and swollen.

Sunflowers,
my eyes swim in the blue sky
around the fence of indifference
and its charred territories.

Soft bites
of strawberry fill my mouth.
I am also crushed, flooded,
swayed by the lonely eyes
of the dog Art starved to death

Cold crispy tongues
of wind brush my tingling skin,
a foraging squirrel rustles the bed of brown leaves,
determined to hide one last hazelnut.

Under the oak
I fall inside myself, fall
past the leaves and into the earth.
The soil nurtures me, I grow
like a mushroom in my solitude.

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2 comentarios:

Anónimo dijo...

Aunque crezcan solitos los champignones son una absoluta delicia y de sabor unico... que bueno que eres un champignon.

Nittai dijo...

jejejejeeeeeeee