Crying

Crying, crying as a child lost in maze Jungle of traumas Weathers different gathered in a bag Weathercock that turns and veers wild Veers wild and passionate No, no ----- do not open that bag of Troubles What it contain… Enough Enough I bear not longer, passionate and Livid Burning forehead Fever in the face Here Here roam I on the plain of rock Here roam I with the ghosts - before I feared - now no longer And with them stay and be When round they go in circles with Naked soles of bones: When the day nears through the Funnel of the Dawn and the first Lights Neither I nor ghost go away at once But later each goes his way, So many unfortunate remain unfortunate And I be one of them.