Poezja

Will I know you―
by unknowing myself in bleak―
moments of giving
wings to you?

Raising your legacy; losing
my words, I block
a masterstroke. Something
was wrong. I was walking alone.

Disrobing a covered
statue, the anguish of
incorrectness hangs.

Enduring a song of―
drums, calling the sun from clouds
for a wounded earth.

What was truth
in jungle of beasts? Any
humming left on the lips of trees?