Wounds of Summer


I can’t close my eyes

not even for a season

Autumn is here.

The chrysanthemums flourish

on dusty streets –

it’s only for the time when

the dead awake

to light the marble towns

and maybe a bit longer afterwards.

Not all, but some

watch hollowly, with empty eyes

the flow of life

walking near by

conjuring them;

‘cause yes, it’s autumn.

You shouldn’t die

not now, not even next year

not in my mind

or in the world’s;

not in your heart

nor in the stars’.

Let autumn kill, and let her rebirth

the leaves and flowers and the sounds

of birds

of waters

and of spring.

Let winter bind the wounds of summer.

Photo – Paula Gecan


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