Moscow
December is passing
Marked with the thunderstorm
The window is blurry and dusted
The raindrops are flashy and warm
Samsara
Everything’s passing –
Carved on King Solomon’s ring
The tongues of fire are dancing
Reflecting on the wall as link
Utopia
Ritmical clatters
Of the wheels of Oriental Express
The antique box in my satchel
The red bridge is under the rails
The cliff
Bitter of waiting
Salt of a splashing sea
The lights of Sun are melting
The borders are not perceived
The blood
From my eyes flows, like tears,
After long nights awake
The whistling wind in my ears
Or the eagle’s cry faraway?
Solitude
Mysterious, eternal
Like mountain or pyramids
Does sand have a single karnel
Among the multiple seeds?
Samsara
© Copyright: Роза Сфольярская, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115122904813
Свидетельство о публикации №115122904813
Рецензии