The Play of Mourning – 30

The Lost My Own Trace
In The Way Of Memories,
Hidden In Mourning Shadow
Of Mirror Lake,
Curved Into Definitiveness,
Limited By The Lines Of Dreams And Reality,
Spirally Filled By Sand Motes.

[More…] The Week Star Is Sparkling In The Brain
By Unreadable Letters In Eve.

Muddy Silts Are Floating Eyelids.

In The End Of Rotten Forest The Forlorn Float
Is Floating Through Hazy Spaces
Of Unexpectable Metamorphoses.

The Particles Are Being Spread
Towards Horizon Of Sunset.
They Are Absurdly Wriggling.

Translated From Croatian

More Shayari by Tomislav Raum
27 Jun 2008 No Comment 1

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