There are the paper clouds
where I write words with the black wine
the angels will read the angels will recite
my poems
the angels will get drunk with my poems!
it’s Thursday in the city of dark glass
and it is snowing now in the city of rains
in my veins other worlds grow up
unblindfold
until the morning
the grey city will be covered by paper -
the signs of writing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a nicely written poem ela.please visit my page and check my poems