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)
Literature and Poetry, Philosophy and Politics, Melancholy and Disquiet
2 comments:
oh i like this it is with flowers. nice. are the other poems of Tzara also that nice?
This is the only one I have in an anthology. there are some on the internet though.
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