Garden
Looking out of the window
I see nothing.
View to eastern hills,
Blocked by lorries, carrying soldiers
In combat-fatigues,
My town looks like a fortress.
In my room,
Cramped with books and history,
Surrounded by dusty calendars,
I wage a war for freedom
From captivity,
Wishing for a breath of green air.
In this prison of thoughts,
I close my eyes and remember
Golden calendulas, cactuses with tiny red blooms,
Whispering orchids and giggling ferns
You once tendered in distant time,
In a faraway garden.
Thus I ignore the walls.
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