| The cold dawns of winter
Wrapped themselves
On the trees of the city park The morning walkers
Created spiral circles
Peacock feathers
With their wide open eyes
Shone in lustrous circles In the inkpot of poetry
Rose a c minor from scale of octave;
In the wild forest
Peacocks, stags and reeds;
Go ahead,
Before the untamed, wild elephants
Come to cross the road,
Go forward. Royal courts remain in wait for you,
Life and drowsiness are creeping
Through the way faring towns.
Bullocks are tormenting water and mud
In paddy fields.
Sunflower blossoms,
Thick breasts of plateaus
Secrete sorrows;
Drown not in them, Go forward. Winter is a mere beginning,
Not an end.
Beginning of a revolution,
An epoch, a history,
And an end. The secretions of the medicinal plants
Destroyed in the war marches
Come to you along the mountain slopes
Oh, ocean, to you. Seasons creep again,
In the end winter raise its hoods
On the Christmas trees;
Again trees of the city park. | 
The Shepherd of flames
ReplyDeleteThe shepherd of flames
Eats with his tongue extended
He has no hands
In the end
He has only the will to destroy
In the oven
In the chamber of suicide
On the battle fields
And in wild fires
Black tongues remain
That can't be seen.
He has limitless wealth
But it's of no use to him
Soon
He will combust
And after
Fly in ashes
In breezes.
His spouse
Will bring sticks to the fire
They will crack and burn
She will romanticize the fire
Pouring olive oil
And after
She will wear
A rope of hemp grass
Or of crushed palm leaves
Around her neck.
it brings in my heart like a flame. in my thoughts, flying clouds... c.p. the sharp shooter of poem...
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