Kept Alive

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.

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