I agree to this landscape
which might not exist.
The father is holding a violin.
Children are licking at the sound.
A cold wind
brushes a garden of petals.
Then the wars . We lose sight of one another.
Huddled in full sentences, words are in hiding.
An empty room
parked in the twilight
of an old apartment house.
Please leave a message,
says Jaina.
which might not exist.
The father is holding a violin.
Children are licking at the sound.
A cold wind
brushes a garden of petals.
Then the wars . We lose sight of one another.
Huddled in full sentences, words are in hiding.
An empty room
parked in the twilight
of an old apartment house.
Please leave a message,
says Jaina.
Reworked from NIKT
© 2003, Ewa Lipska
From: Ja
Publisher: Wydawnictwo Literackie, Krakow, 2003
From: Ja
Publisher: Wydawnictwo Literackie, Krakow, 2003
