Parched desert – hot rays twisted like a shriek
Piercing a fresh wound of my loneliness:
No letters in blank silence – what’ll I seek?
No souls to kiss on – whom will I confess?
Blind, we are bound in the crowd of blind ones;
Terrific cram, no chance to stay alone…
Then why must I extol this dreadful dance? –
I tell my utmost pain to a little pine cone…
And God will bless the very painful moment of my fault
And make me feel it blessed by mean of a lonely sunny bolt…
Parched Desert...
© Copyright: Людмила Дмитриевна Назарова, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125012601421
Свидетельство о публикации №125012601421
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