4 Jun 2017


This poem is, I'd say, as a part of my poetry, my personal way of seeing life. I write poetry because I need put my feelings in a piece of paper, with no wishes of beeing recognized as an important poet, with no pretending reach immortality. Just what I need, just what I love. Really hope you enjoyed.


I do not intend to go beyond where I came from.
Let others play their fortune
on acrobatic jumps and searching out of North
in the wide cloister of distant footprints.
I only know that I long to know myself
from the rocks of solitude and from the sea
that stains of blue the salt of my words.
Remains the eternity in the red marble of wrath
and on the rusty plate of envy. I do not want
drink the secret potion of immortality
nor leave in my verses the wild perfume
which display the herbs in the cemetery.
At the end, I am nothing but a pitiful soul
with mortgaged time, debtor of a woman's love
I do not deserve, lucky poet's apprentice
who found happiness doing what he wanted most:
love and be loved,
and write.

No comments:

Post a Comment