Thirsty I endure a wicked desert.
Scorching wind plucks the eyes.
Legs ache. Ankles swell. Drag we must in fever.
To forbidden land.
Tell me how far we have to go?
There is only the defiant spirit
which is burning incessantly.
The secret flight of a river took place
at night,
leaving the banks dry as bone.
On the shores the guns are positioned.
Green parrots have suddenly departed
from the tall branches.
Any time the explosions will start
with deafening row.
This very day the sun will hide
when the ravens will start descending
and eagles swoop for the knocking death.
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
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