Poetry

In nightshade
you had come, as a
prodigy, from the deep
sea of pain.

Digging the hole,
you made the first move.
Beautiful stop, after―
a long detour to find peace.

You craved, what
you wouldn't get. Something
breaks in my jar.
Rembrandt cries after
the ‘Night Watch'.

I will not go for
self-portrait again.
I want to become free
from the burning canvas.