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The clock on the tower
has been broken and the time like the ashes of the sun it is still dropping upon us bright colors of hyacinth. Strange birds pick up the dead seconds while one chariot carries their relics to the other side of the night. The power of darkness black rose of shadow strengthens the power of the whirling tempest, forests of white wings till the heavens and earth. And the moon itself seems to be a lost chariot ā clear sign that we were once upon the time visited. On its anvil a farrier is forging large nails of golden fire in the twilight. This night my thoughts have been like a flock of pigeons that have been taken away but they have come back always to me. Thus in that day without evening, only light I shall dig through the wall and go to the peaceful side of myself to remember my future. O, my God, it seems to me that we have known one another long before You have indulged for me to be born. Copyright Ā© 2017 Marin Mihalache From the collective anthology āGreat poems of our timeā, National Library of Poetry, Watermark Press, Maryland, USA, 1993
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