The night prolongly
cried
as a wounded bird in the moment in which it was kissing
the unseeing.
Its whistle trickled on a sidewalk
overflows into houses,
rambling upon benumbed flowers,
flooding rooms with faded air,
bursting into a torrent through
corridors of thoughts and dreams,
crushing
under heels barefooted immense
the written pages,
ignoring a letter line
- inner elixir -
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such a lovely write, Lucia.....