my river slowed down
went to the valleys
thinks and sifts through her memories
languidly through the meanders
silently rushes to her sea
my river used to be
a clear stream in the beginning
like a story from the mother's bosom
it hums softly like the words to her child
the sonorous chime of remembrance
weather like it was yesterday
the river flows
from the backwater
from her source
she foams down the rapids
takes care of herself.
her path winds through canyons and valleys
where was she
she only knows that
she will soon fill up
the sea with her water
and will say goodbye
12 luglio 2024
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Grave mound
di Nastasimir Franovic
Grave mound
An oak will grow out of me.
It will sprout from my eyesight.
And start the(…)