Резултати претраге

Ars poetica (Art of poetry)

An echo from the bottom of a heart, elusive,
Shouts to me ”Catch me, before I’m lost,
Before I become pale, I become azure,
Silver, transparent, none!”
 
I catch it quickly like a butterfly,
Not the world with my oddity to astound,
But to give a form to moments that fly
And for you, brother, me to understand.
 
And let the poem, that rolls from the strings,
Becomes, acquiring rhythm and sound,
So bright as look into the eyes
And simple as shaking a hand.