Poezja

It was middle noon 
on the deserted street. 
Nobody will come out 
to greet the sun. 
 
You will lift the fallen leaves 
to soften the blow, 
corrupting the morality 
crouching in the shadow. 
 
A slumber was needed 
to get the head shaven. 
Touching the dust, 
the heat, the winds. 
 
Dig a sinking hole 
deep in the heart. 
It will suck all your tears 
all your salt.