of a poverty
fears and tenderness
spread the breath in your imperfect veins
it's all you have in these times
Sometimes I barely look back
and i don't even look forward
I just let burn mask of my face on the sun
to reshape my visions
everything comes in a way of ownership
starting from down earth manors
ending somewhere on the front line
I guess its just a nature of the man
travelling always with some kind of a weapon
so I do wear just a humbleness
old coats wore
in old wars
to remain myself that there is a mild clime too
I have never chosen to become a woman
but at least i can enjoy the smell of roses
growing in the nostalgic garden
this is the world we live in
but then
we all have only this kind of beauty
we can raise by ourselves.
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