10-14-2011, 03:21 PM
I write –
on autumn leaves,
when the sun is
alive
The grass
is still
fragrant.
And you are a dream which
I won’t
tell about.
My eyes are collecting colorful rains.
As in the mad years,
when
I ran with a cloth
to bandage the light.
The wings have left
and the golden sparkles which
you are writing with today,
without even knowing…
A shed
feather of Fujiyama.
on autumn leaves,
when the sun is
alive
The grass
is still
fragrant.
And you are a dream which
I won’t
tell about.
My eyes are collecting colorful rains.
As in the mad years,
when
I ran with a cloth
to bandage the light.
The wings have left
and the golden sparkles which
you are writing with today,
without even knowing…
A shed
feather of Fujiyama.
'Because the barbarians will arrive today;and they get bored with eloquence and orations.' CP Cavafy