Poezja

Collecting the dirt,
a speechless drama unfolds.
 
Now you can hear the―
wails of buried amnesia.
 
You can touch now the footsteps
where the activist fell.
 
The gift of bleeds coming
from the saddened past;
 
the space was expanding―
to accommodate missed abortions.
 
My limbs giveaway gathering,
the blackberries of moon.