(BG)

 

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Door


When the wind blows

The trees start creaking

Like doors half-open

To the blue sky.

And there noiselessly floats

A sunny plane

And its trail disintegrates

In strange hieroglyphs...

I try to guess

What the next instant has in store for me -

Love, hope, fear

Or inexperienced pain?...

I do not want to live

Like the ants in the ground.

Isn't man another

Half-open door

To the skies?

I crave to be a sun-light beam,

I long

To be a part of eternity...

The sun there is not a myth.

Stars are not symbols

But stars.

And the right to think within the Universe

Is my freedom.

 

1988

 


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