It Happened All That It Could've Happened Poem by Dorina Brandusa Landen

There is no going back
go ahead stranger
without looking at anything else
but the bridge leading across the river.

In the most dreary day of autumn
the wind was rounded in the tree crowns
sadness was dribbling like sprinkles of rain
dragonflies were dancing in a leaden light
iron-birds were flying in thoughtless bless
in the knit of my browns in a heart attack
the tarmac of roads that drive themselves away
and hand-prints on bloody walls.

A gust of wind was banging my chest
a frozen branch was resonating in a window
on the plain the spirit of birds were speechless
the whole world seemed a convex lens
where the drudges of the day were wandering
the eye behind the eye was looking at
horses with tassels in a procession of surprised grooms
how they shook their ember manes
hitting the ground with their white hooves
how their spirit were galloping amongst the dead
whining wheels as the whining from another world
with restoration of distant memories.

The mirror of water wasn't round yet
was sleepless still fragmentary
from the triangle of the sky first snow was falling down
someone was crying the greatness and the wilderness
of a freedom without science
someone else was squeezing sour wine from a bunch of green grapes.

*

Struggling with life to get out of ourselves
we hung our uneven lives
bathe in the waters tainted by other bodies.

Neither trust nor faith is left
between us and nature the mother of cryptic
if what we are clothed in

it's a new pain or
an unscabbard sword in the heart
don't grieve for the words of the passing day.
Have you thought that today experiences
are our deserved pages of history?

- Is it night or day?
- No my friend
it's an eternal screeching twilight
above a silo of marionettes
bits of life lost thoughts
images reflected inside out
and sometimes just a slight spark
in the middle of a paralyzed crowd -
what's left of it
can one make a human?

Since before birth
it happened what all that it could've happened
in the cloister of my blood
time turns its timeless watch
my feet smell of incense
and even my hands rip and tear
like a rabbit whiter than snow
trapped
neither those seen and touched
nor those heard and understood
are gladden me
the laws of nature are my harsh instincts
and I'm scared
not to be afraid of anything.