When I was 15
I was strolling
In the park
And
Under the shades
Of old lindens
I've met
The Madman
He wore
Dirty coat
With some buttons
Missing
His raven black
Long Hair
Was bristlig
And his black eyes
Were burning
Like coals
In the mouth
Of a stove
In the darkness
You, he said,
Pointing finger
At me
You will have
Lots of men
Around you
And they'll
Love you
Fight for you
Manipulate you
And hate you
In the end
Cause none
Of them
Will be loved by you
And with
The one you'll
Love
Never will
You
Be
I ran away
While he
Was screaming
His 'never! '
And the rest
Of the day
It rang
In my ears
Like a passing-bell
Like Mozat requiem...
And now
As many years
Passed by
I'm still thinking
Was it
A Curse
Or
A Prophecy?
(2013)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem