Poezja

Cupping the water in hand,
you feel the nativity-
near the mute swans.

The silence of a bird, explodes
before it flies.
The hands flutter in excitement.

You take a cipher to
measure the infinity. Figures
become drones. One of the
suspect throws a bomb.

The quietness of sea, when
you start drinking the mist.
I will discover the beauty of death.

The words will reach,
when you would not listen.