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The flowers are dead in our garden...
personals [ ]
poem

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by [Djemagu ]

2009-06-07  |     | 




The chest of my eagle is yellow chrome
His tongue sings the sweetest love songs
with his beak he makes silver
and pours it on to the earth

As if a million angels are flying down from the sky
and reflecting the face of my beloved on to the lake
the face of the lake is my mirror
I look and see thy face

The one I’ve fallen in love with
I’m so desperate to see face to face
Home sickness defeated me
I miss my home

The smell is so different
from the flowers in my garden
my love awaits me next door
However, the forest I walk is here

And the mountains I climb/
the green grass
once upon a time I jumped on... is there!
The Five-finger Mountains which I used to climb is there...

What has happened to our cottage?
Where the hell is our beautiful roof gone?
The flowers are dead in our garden...

Gunsel Djemal 1/6/2009 Bromley Road- London

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