The Play of Mourning – 28

Nothing Can Be Recognized In Illness
Excerpt The Sin Of Heaven
Which Took Itself To Poetry.

In Dark Sunday Of Afternoon Delight
Poison Perfume Lays In The Heavy Shadow Of The Tree
In Fruits Of Sorrow Which Can’t Be Denied
In Silk Breadths.

Surreal And Phantomic
Are Vaporizing Into The Sunset.

From The Wounds Of Infinity
The Pale Blood Of Apocalypse Is Leaking.

In Tears Of Redundancy
The Dreams Are Cracking
As The Bones In Trunkfuls.

Translated From Croatian

More Shayari by Tomislav Raum
27 Jun 2008 No Comment

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