The frontiers
between us are a just a scratch on the map,
second-tiers
in a war for a fool's cap,
Sometimes
I wish I was never born,
But I want everything,
and my ego burns.
The wild Kali
turns her opponents' heads on a string,
the Death Valley
is made of rock songs that ring.
Oh dear,
I wish there were no wars in the world,
But you fight, my beloved,
for ink, oil and gold.
And I look for you
in the megapolis squat,
and I ache for you,
with my mind stuck
in a dot.
A meditation
in a burning hell
is a medication
that no one will ever sell.
(c) Maryna Tchianova
The frontiers
© Copyright: Марина Чиянова, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118091804256
Свидетельство о публикации №118091804256
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