Friday, February 08, 2008

Way

what is this road that separates us
across which I hold out the hand of my thoughts
a flower is written at the end of each finger
and the end of the road is a flower which walks with you

Tristan Tzara (1896 - 1963)

2 comments:

antonia said...

oh i like this it is with flowers. nice. are the other poems of Tzara also that nice?

Kubla Khan said...

This is the only one I have in an anthology. there are some on the internet though.