When you’re born
You have no idea about
Your journey
Cut-out for you
Neither how long you’ll be
On this winding road
Through valleys and mountains
Deserts and ravines
Nor how long you’ve chased
Fata-morganas
Until at one summer this spark
Of a glowworm lights-up
A short moment’s paradise
That shows itself like a
Floating garden in the skies.
In love all’s floating and like
A feather I rose…
But then all climaxed moments
Faded
I fell like a stone
Until your hands caught me then
Seven years later
I lived to tell the story
And still I wonder about the last
Phase of my life…
When you’ve counted
Eighty summers
You’ll be the scribe who is kept
By his Muse alive.
zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’20.
