Slowly softly night sipping in

My vein as if river passing in

Through a narrow throat of–

Mountain. The beats of heart

Throbbing, sign of me alive.

Night will get deepest in its own;

The cry of mother losing her–

Eldest son, the sobbing of sister

Losing her only brother will pass

Not unheard; silence will carry it.

And my poem will be pass on

As rambling, nothing new.

The beats of heart throbbing,

Sign of me living…


P.C. Dawid Planeta

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