Dan Enache Poet Free verse

In the gardens of shadows, where resentments bloom like poppies

In the gardens of shadows, where resentments bloom like poppies,
Politics becomes an art of illusions, a theater of masks.
The despotism of the masses dances on the invisible strings of time,
And conservatism and liberalism are just faded echoes.
Partisans pour their blame like a river of ink on dry paper,
Blaming the victorious shadows that float like clouds of smoke.
But the true sculptors of these idols are the ravenous masses,
Who build their leaders from the illusory clay of desires.
In democracy, where ignorance triumphs like a soundless orchestra,
Hysteria becomes the queen of the silent ball, dancing to the rhythm of madness.
The siren songs of the past are just forgotten whispers,
In a world where the light of truth is a trembling flame.
Paradox floats like an eagle in the sky of sleeping consciousness,
And the melancholic magic of time erases the boundaries of reality.
In this labyrinth of the mind, we find fragments of eternity,
Lost in the hourglass of the world, like sand silently flowing.

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