Came to me -
Who?
She.
When?
In the dawn, afraid.
What of?
Anger.
Whose?
Her father's
Confide!
I kissed her twice.
Where?
On her moist mouth.
Mouth?
No.
What, then?
Cornelian.
How was it?
Sweet.
Rudaki 870-940/41, from the Persian.
How many shapes a poem has? what is that we look at and we know, that we capture within the opacity of writing, and that we call poetry?
ReplyDeleteYou have said it so well.a reflection of us, around us, inside us. a life of moving sensations.
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