You are also Hell, and Paradise, start and end, my son! By Vladislava Tzvetanova Colova translated by Ann WoodYou are also AD, and Rai, start and end, my son!
So I want to have wings, not to fly, but to carry you, I want to have a sword and a sword, not to attack, but to defend you, I want to have incisors, not to cut, but to chew with when you refuse to eat like now, I want to have a heart, not to thrash in mine but in your body, I want to have a mouth not to talk to her, and you ... I want to have a brain, which directs to reassure not when I'm worrying and fixing, and you ...
Hours to your adulthood are the same as those before birth-hot, sticky, with fear of the uncertainty of the future and the question, "Will there be who loves you?"
I'd like to split the years to two and fly with you, My son, My son, mildly growing Marty!
With you flying!
Poetry by antoniya katelieva-wood
Read 46 times
Written on 2018-07-20 at 20:27
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