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Legend spun in insomnia
poetry [ ]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [Camica ]

2004-01-21  |   

Literary Translation - Translations of classic and original poetry and other materialsThis text is a follow-up  | 



The night rises, watching my dreams curiously.
The moon riding a werewolf clings to the hand of silence
One to another smiling awfully, drawing eternity.
The nothing dances with the nobody in darkness
with a bow tied up in chains of synonyms.
The entranced rhythm blooms the snowflakes
to fall lightly in the soul, as visions.
Insomnia sleeps in laurels on my pillow
Because there is no more saddening ballad in the world
Than us, the story that does not exist.

The Moon, not the Earth, lays on my shoulders,
It is too empty there without the second pronoun.
This is why the pale light is a weak attempt
To dismiss the monster`s dance inertia
That makes ashes and mist on the rocks.

are you here, somewhere?
if you are, let`s smile
towards tomorrow

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