Concrete · death · Faith


It is one of those days when everything is silent in us,
not because we have nothing to say to each other,
but you are too here, and I am too far away,
lost in the murmur of another sea.

My love grows wings and rises,
then falls among the spheres in piano song.
Stars spin on the sky looking for their focus,
the moon swings wearily between two poles.

If you asked me what I want I would answer simply:
A piece of land, with an oak tree as cross,
a bush of roses, and, why not, a hand of sparrows.
To watch the infinite flow in the wind…

Romanian version


One thought on “Swing

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