Edmond Rand Poems

In this amazing morning, on my weird garden
Million of flowers of my age
Same generation, same image
But this one, with weird leaves, hide anything?
...

What language, what poem
One single vowel waiting for
In the green book of innocent
Vocabulary of my childhood?
...

What if your exhausted desire can rest a bit
Upon the chair of quiet valley of this world
And be bored again because of quietness of dead stones
left its memory in my all invisible living,
...

Consciousable honey flying above an unknown real flowers
Therefore, when the sun arise, it ask itself: is there any
Other flowers hide from this hermit memory here?
As soon as it received a response from itself, a million
...

Peaceless guitar, left its hearts in my tomb of memory.
Sing with unopened mouth and language of my animal.
Which will be translated in thy poem yet begin,
Descendants of my reality, which I listen
...

You are a flowers of whole beauty,
Made to not remember these all pain of mine,
You, the only liter of water my pain's fire expect,
Which you do not remember anymore,
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His fears love you,
Not because of love
Her desire departed,
Not because of wanted to arrive
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Behold, studied from the forests,
white hair and carry his school books
for me and my child yet sleeping,
And I just heard a voice of male chicken
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Have thee tasted whole fruits upon this earth?
All have their bitter seed
Except this one who wear nothing except White garment of truth
Not as a lie of this green garment upon thy shoulder the trees
...

While the rain start,
I will call the moon: DREAM
And my heart: single dust play
a sky's soccer ball in the birth of stars,
...