Solide Poem by Sridala Swami

Solide

Mit seinen harten Händen hat er
einen Vogel bauen wollen,
schwarzäugig, zartknochig, rasch atmend.

Aus den Knochen werden immer Kästen,
und Geometrie bricht
ihm das Herz.
Also baut er Käfige.

Übersetzung Sylvia Geist und Tom Schulz

Sridala Swami
Saturday, February 17, 2018
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Poems By Sridala Swami
Not Loss but Residue
Solide
g_h_ngt_
h_ngw_m_n
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