Poezie

Wrecks

1 min lectură·1 noiembrie 2008

Mediu

Old wheat straws breathe hard

beneath the clay walls

painted with ill white.

Portraits of young warriors

are covered in dust

and the picture of the leader

sits crowned in the middle,

forgotten by time,

but not by your memory.

Old clothes eaten by moths

rest unstirred in the closet

as a souvenir from an age

without colour.

Wrinkled faces betray fear

and weakness,

unspoken thoughts and joys.

Isolation.

The wooden radio seems to broadcasts

the messages of the leader

and the rules which are to be followed.

My grandfather weeps on the stairs

for the ground of his father...

for the blood of his brother...

for the misfortune of being born

in Romania....

099.907

Vicleanu Mihaita. “Wrecks.” Atelier, Poezie.ro, https://poezie.ro/atelier/vicleanu-mihaita-0026790/poezie/1808279/wrecks

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