The Hermit

The rain was talking to me till the lazy morning
About lines of wet and bending roads,
Which destinies follow through centuries dull -
The roads that leave their signs on human palm.

Where the ground is slippery and the decayed cross
Sanks to one side because of showers and wind,
Where the rigid grass and smell of foggy sky,
He, young and unknown, once settled. He

With thorny midnight and the young Moon
Comes out to see the moisture of the stars.
That night the wished by me forgotten rest
Cold air, melting, took away so fast.

The trembling voice, like echo goes to clouds,
Will reach the deepest height so timeless.
He will not live for long, perhaps, and waits
When the world around will be forever silent.

The neighbor of my feelings languid,
He saw the world with carelessness in eyes,
And hit the hearts, and didn’t think
That he could meet sometimes the past.

The past returned and caught –
And all was filled with moaning.
It pained a lot, right in the chest.
The pain was taken only by the morning.

For long the blackest fear threatens him
With the deep grave, but doesn’t take the life.
When purity with sin were married,
He carried garlands and sang about days of love.

Stretching his arms under the sky of sorrow,
He gives his lips be kissed by thunderstorm.
He feels: the life was only temporary borrowed.
And it will vanish, unnoticed, before long.




Poetry by Alla Antares
Read 758 times
Written on 2008-07-24 at 10:56

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