I slept in my room. Quiet. My soul flied quiet from window. It flied to the World near and foreign To the distant town, strange and native It wandered in by-streets and looked at houses This is your street and the light of a big lantern. The name of your street it saw With hands it hugged the friend, Moon. It penetrates with a ray to the desk. After, it walked and the floor creaked under feet. Cross the threshold, a beautiful bedroom it was, Lied down. It felt your passion and warmth. But the merciless dawn come, But to come back, it doesn't have power and wish When I got up in the morning I didn't understand Was this a dream or my soul really was at you?
Irina Mocreac is a poet living in Kishinev, Moldavia. Image © Bill Murphy 2000-2018 All Rights Reserved
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