A Cursed City
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Soran M. H
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A Cursed City
........................................
There,
certain shadows linger—
shadows that resemble wolves,
beyond the borders of consciousness.
They stand ready to strike
whenever the sky of words grows dark
and pens sink
into a deep, dreamless sleep.
...
An amber eye
watches from behind,
following the footprints of words.
The moment you turn,
its gleam fades.
An eye without eyelids—
an eye that cannot close.
...
It is a woodcutter
after midnight,
carving into the mind of poetry,
like the bullet
that awaits you
at the opening of a new line.
...
Who will save poetry
from all these fires
burning in the darkness of caves?
Who will grant it refuge
from blind storms,
and shield it
from the Don Quixotes of the streets,
from the humiliation of feeling,
and the terror of words?
...
A voice echoes between the lines:
where words find no shelter
and meanings dissolve into silence.
Here, emptiness prevails;
poetry and poets are strangers.
language drifted through like a dream
and vanished without a glance behind.
.
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