Posted by: bogpan | януари 29, 2018

No one can stifle the power of the air

I am speaking so…

More and more
between the walls.
And reflections
are swallowing us.
More and more
we meet faces
that resemble
another ones.
I’m crossing myself.
It passed
like a ship,
sewn
of the skin of dead people.
The fear stirs up
rage
or sameness
in the eyes.
But like a gate
that is creaking
and half-closing,
I am.
For the steps
of the warriors
and the wise men –
dust.
In Rome I’ll repeat to you
poems of Keats
(and of all of them
on the water*).
The Night of Gifts
circles
opens.

*J. L. Borges

Stifle

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Responses

  1. There are no words to describe the beauty and the profundity of thought in this poem. „But like a gate
    that is creaking… In Rome I’ll repeat to you/poems of Keats…The Night of Gifts circles opens…. I am.“ I wish I could write like you.

  2. Thanks for the emotional and delicious opinion!
    I’m seriously excited. Oh, but you keep writing like yourself! It’s so incredible.“The truly great writer does not want to write. He wants the world to be a place in which he can live the life of the imagination.“
    “ Henry Miller
    You are always welcome!

  3. „“Everyone has his own reality in which, if one is not too cautious, timid or frightened, one swims. This is the only reality there is.”

  4. Again Henry Miller. I fully accept these words of the great author!


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