Nadia-Cella Pop: Respirations

My eyes are snowing

the fir branches’ burden.

A disarranged colourless joy

leaves at the gate of my thoughts

a sparkle from the century’s faith,

hanged in the dry stamen

of the parting.

I respire, with every day

the wildest path of the slaves

from their watchmen, to their doom.

The seconds are crawling heavily

ahead of the path

which is measured but equal, however

with all the pages we can’t read.

Of that undiscovered

or just untamed letter

in the primer of happiness,

that asks now for a tribute:

the clusters of pain,

burnt in glances and flesh.

But I will respire, once again

the new air

of a fresh and green spring,

from groves and whispers,

in my own island of dew.

Nadia-Cella Pop (Romania)

Photo: Pixabay