Poezja

The show must go on. 
Under a sable cloud. 
I am on the vast stage 
to perform. 
 
Tall cacti and harsh 
dunes will not find 
a sweet acacia. 
 
When I am hungry 
I would like to write something 
very personal on a yellow paper. 
 
The potter’s wheel will not 
move today. 
The potter had turned into clay.