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
Copyright © Bozhidar Pangelov | Year Posted 2011
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment