Buds Of Winter Flowers Poem by Agatha Eliza

Like buds of a winter flower
fragile and frozen,
we claim our freedom and detachment
from the old meadow patch
that sustained and nourished us.


But their patch is elevated
on blood-smeared soils
and their commands are launched from
thrones of skulls, their kingdoms
are forged on the heaps of rib cages!


To that, we prefer the exile,
the brotherhood forged
by a silent vow, the fiery desire
to succumb to the tight grasp
of a revolution
and diverge the course of history
once more, fueled by the
refreshing hope of the Prague Spring.