I tempt tempests into my arms
Cunningly cunningly
Overburdened air I sing
Otherwise it'll blow up
I tempt tempo piano presto
The tip of my tongue hissing at tones
Cunningly cunningly
Overburdened sound I sing
Otherwise
The earth would be silent and empty
I tempt tempera into the colours
The paint now dripping sprinkles the walls
Cunningly cunningly
Overburdened stones I sing
Otherwise
Nothing would be built
2010.
©Miroslava Odalovic
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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