Serban Raducu Bogdan (7 march 1988)

'The mystical kiss of my persian queen
and the elegance of her scent
dances with me, like a flower that dances with the sun
at the banquet of giants.
Even now you touch me.'

As there are no more words to travel between us
not even a 'hello'
and as the world fails to bury me, under it's apocalypse,
the freckled moon shows her face once again
in this average night,
showering spears of silver above my bowed and lonely head
for she knows the murderer, still dwells in the recess of my mind.
Building my citadel of love around you
I've shielded you from my rational self, and now
your untouchable red lips become the room of torture
in which you prefer me to be.

'Evicting my love out of her heart
in the eve of christmas,
this girl is a masterpiece more than a tragedy.'