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Mariana Kiss
România
The temple of the pure dream
Little by little the brass crumbles
In thousands and thousands of spider webs ...
Somewhere, a tired writer weaves a drama
The murmur of infinite chorus.
I stole a few threads
To make a bridge out of them
May I always come to you
Among the drops of wet stars.
Silver fingers and stretches them
In no time,
Over the foam of the sleeping sea,
Among the mute waves.
The condor's wing sticks
The temple of the pure dream
Then he falls asleep on butterflies
And on the untrodden mountain.
I took a crumb from the silver
Spread it around the world
To wait for me at the turn
When the echo from afar comes.
From a piece of white gold
I made myself a ring
I hid it in the threshold of love ...
I don't know how to get rid of him anymore.
In the dark nights, It shines like the moon.
I throw him away
But he always comes back.
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