Vera Dike

The curse of being a poet

To see a beauty and misery
of the World
...

The night


The ink leaked from heavy clouds
...

The Stars has changed.
So did I.

Under foreign sky
...

The heart of a poet
is winged crystal bridge
marked by stomping boots.
The world in rush
...

Me...My love, I am as my country,
formed by the fire
and know the battle-scars
I've tasted kiss of Juda
...

Cashew tree

The cashew tree roots
in compound - which
...

High above villages
high above fields
high above human effort lies
the ruins of an ancient temple
...

Placidly roams- takes what comes
bare are the bones
nothing remains hidden
...

The aroma of chamomile tea
reminds me of my mothers hands
The touch that heal the cough of cold
and the heartaches of human existence
...

It's the vast darkness that lies ahead
and scorched - earth

The breath of dead behind the winds
...

In the lighthouse by the restless sea
A solitary figure stands with grace. Her spindle whirls, her fingers free
Weaving threads of time and space.
...

Behind barbed wire

Behind the barbed wire a cherry tree blooms:
bustling petals in the land of death.
...