Poezii

Nicolae Sirius A Letter From Home Today is the twentieth day of March. I have bought apples, canned food And bread. I did not queue long. An old woman died in the queue, praying; Perhaps praying for death. How are you? We shall meet soon, I am sure. I lay on the beach The letter out of sight. The deep green wave startled me, Touching my feet. We shall meet soon: I a man without home, And windows and doors have no memory. How to leave and return When my eyes are no longer Filled with the silence of stars; When my heart is no longer immune To the dark blossoms I harvest? Who and why: questions I have worn as My birthright. I can scent a wind Far away, and wind-scattered death. Today is the twentieth day of March. And I promise we shall meet again Soon. Then I shall rise and depart, Sit atop a hillock and look on As friends' letters rise >From the valley of death And tumble about me on the beach. Poetry page