Death of the Mountain

/, Blesok no. 12/Death of the Mountain

Death of the Mountain

Voicing the Heights
Death of the Mountain
Sower. Flower

Going down the road I imagined in myself
the horrible death of the mountain,
and when I arrived I learned about the truth,
which down the road I had mostly preconceived.

The men dressed in black cotton
started to mourn,
I saw that dead defiance
and I wondered why they forgot

in those late hours where roosters do not sing
to choke with cotton all its holes.
Perhaps the darkness of the mountain

gave birth to a new death.
I was wrong. There flew dark blue woods
from Mountains and flooded all with Mountains.

AuthorJanko Ninov
2018-08-21T17:23:56+00:00 January 1st, 2000|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 12|0 Comments