The White Cherry Tree Grafts Poem by Borce Panov

The White Cherry Tree Grafts



I'm waking up on the night page
while my grandma is leafing through its pages
and my cheerful grandpa
is grafting white cherry tree brunches
onto the ripen red chery tree brunches
for me.
I don't remember this
because you are neither dead nor alive
if the dream in your head is thumbing itself.
I woke up by the silkwarms' room
while my mother
was unfolding the tread of silence
then, she was weaving the day on loom for silk
by telling me
that my grandma's book of the dreams renditions
under her pillow
is a book forever open
to graft the meaning
of our dreams...
and between two books
it lives in our family
like a guardian angel.
Because you are neither dead nor alive
if the dream in your head is thumbing itself.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Borce Panov

Borce Panov

Radovish, Republic of Macedonia
Close
Error Success