Vida Nenadic

There is a sleeping soul in a man.
The time is passing by and changing us
on its way.
Only the blood
and the roses
are still red
as we can see it in reality
like in our dreams.

This flawed life gives us nothing
but a heart of stone.
The breeze is drying the tears of despair.
The essence of truth is disappearing,
as everyone is searching for
but running away from it.

The high monuments of goodness,
built by time
topple.

Life comes to its end.
Where to go now
when the heart become rotten in the chest,
as the owner offers it on the palm of his hand
while keeping the fist in his pocket?

He wonders on the roads
and drains the life from his veins.
Out of its drops
new days are appearing.

And we are facing the time of broken values,
which carries the burden of despair
and separates the heart from the soul
again and after all.