The Exile Poem by Dorina Brandusa Landen

Life strikes me with the precision of a bullet
with whom to share the old wine
with whom to share the last breath
only the fertile soil feeds on my blood

here I am with my nerves stretch from one loneliness to another
an immense wound of fluid snowfalls
I live in a clear seed of the elements
like a moribund embracing a leaf

I have the strength the pride
riding my unsaddled black horse
to continue the solitary journey
through the negative of the existence

along the lit pyres my knees
will never bleed again

I go against the flow and ebb
melting with my heart icing stars
and leave behind burned bridges

have I got the composition the tenderness the tolerance
to forgive the betrayals the infatuations the dualities
to wash your hands with my tears
to transform my white blood cells in compact snowfalls
to voluntarily give up the ocean of glass
of my self-imposed exile.