Elena Sandu

Biography of Elena Sandu

Elena Sandu poet

Am I a poet? Myself as such, how could I see?
I have no clue of how to write good poetry...
My tiny words, are nothing more then little tries
to have a whisper of my heart
(I only changed a habit, that of speaking to a wall,
the paper seems to listen to me more.)
Most of time I write fast and free, just like I love to dance, ignoring imposed rules the only thread followed being my soul, my heart, memory trying to catch on paper few moments of unconsciously instinctual breathing.

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Love Lesson

The shouting snow blizzard
keeps shooting anger
Towards us.
My face hurts, while
Trying to defend my eyes.

Line waiting for the bus
I hid a frowning face
constantly moving

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