They ask me why I write like this, as if I have swallowed something I cannot digest
They ask me why I write like this, as if I have swallowed something I cannot digest,
I tell them that I do not craft poems, I survive them, I carry them as a burden,
Each verse is a wound that decided to speak, a silent cry in the quiet night,
Each stanza is a bandage pretending to be art, a refuge in the face of pain.
Do not seek beauty here, seek the places where I have buried myself deeply,
So that no one else would have to know the burden my soul carries,
Each word is an attempt to breathe in the depths of a sea of silence,
An attempt to find light in a universe that sometimes seems merciless.
My poems are strips of life, pieces of soul hidden from the eyes of the world,
Each line is a fragment of truth, a place where I have buried my fears,
Where I have made peace with the shadows that still dance on the edge of my consciousness,
And in the silence between words, I hope to find a trace of eternal calm.
Therefore, do not seek only beauty, but also the places where I have hidden my tears,
Where I have let desires transform into verses that will always remain alive,
In a continuous dance between hope and doubt, between light and darkness,
Where each verse is a testament to survival and a tribute to life.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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