The Word's Running Poem by Daniela AndonovskaTrajkovska

It runs with the thought's speed
- bitten all over by the winds…
There it is galloping shoed by time,
yoked by space,
saddled up, mounted
and spurred by the headless rider
who rages in forests black
and impenetrable for light.

Word - there it is with calluses on
the feet
and blisters burning it and
stinging it along the vertical.
They want to halt it,break it,
chain it to the ground,
to keep their eyes on it.
Yet, it slips away
and like a snake wiggling left and right
it sketches the space in curves
uprooting the roots previously
planted
by those who love the vertical
deeply stuck into a static point.

Word - there it is running by the river
in an attempt to understand her flow,
in an effort to touch present.
But fox as she is -
whenever it reaches its hands - the river escapes down through its fingers
in order to find her parent
and again turn into past.

Word - there it is running with question marks hung around its neck
Shot high up
to the Sisyphus' mountain.