The Wind

it’s a time of hunger and of plague and of starling the grasshoppers ate up the wheat the water has another color can’t be drunk the children go to someone else’s doors knock but they do not answer them and speak there behind one crooked tree something they speak hisss the wind that one at least knew that he was tested they were staying and speaking to him even he was seeing people sticking needles under the nails but you have arms both left one and right one and wrists and fingers and a hole ignite your skin the wind is from bellow The author of this poem is from Bulgaria, where he lives and works. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HDK0-hB8y64&feature=related ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Contest: sponsored by Deborah Guzzi BULGARIA