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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Five Minutes Of Spring

I hurry to bring out the recycled plastic
On the way to the garbage station
My eyes, enchanted, slide from side to side
The gorgeous downhill cherry tree
cracked open its first flowers.
My neighbour’s peach tree
in full gorgeous blossom
such splendid look of the blue sky
with strong shades of pink

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