Nero CaroZiv

The moon reddish color looms through horizon's fog
In the dancing mist the hazy meadow sleeps
By the green lush a reptilian creature calls his mate the frog
There where a shadowy movement stealthily creeps
...

Hills and dales of ancient land, bleak, barren and glaring
Where my thoughtless, happy hours beguiling childhood strayed,
How the sand with ages of patina on me is warring,
Howl, moan winds of the past above my tufted shade!
...

How does she smile like that little swamp crocodile
To improve her lure, her seductive shining tail,
And how her sweet words are vile as the crocodile waters of the Nile
On every comparable, measurable scale!
...

In storm and in tempest we two parted
No grieving silence but rage and sour anger over dry tears
Souls once harmoniously united departed broken hearted
With agony to sever for years
...

The shade of death is made of a canopy piercing icicles cold
That mortal eyes ache upon its view and cannot comprehend or behold
Yet when mortal eyes are in eternal darkness closed
And death, cold and pale upon the length limbs stretched, reposed
...

It is that time of my life when in me I sadly behold
Around me merely few yellow leaves, or none do still at late autumn hang
Upon those boughs which like my rusted bones and brittle wrinkled skin shake against the cold,
Bare ruined waning choirs, who were late to migrate, the sweet birds their melodies sang.
...

The seasons gather flowers from the rain
And bring the firstling to the flock
And in the dusk of dawn the unrelenting clock
beats out the little dreams from the eyes of drowsy human
...

I was in Manhattan in a book bazaar with lots of bargains, none interested me.
I kept my eyes wandering around not really knowing where to look,
At the strolling people or at the static street shelves books
It is just like being in a Zoo
...

Ah a happy lover once was I who had come
To look on her the one I loved so well
She who lightened and rang my gateway bell
Then to learn her gone so far from my heart home
...

Oh, that it were possible
After long grief and pain
You walk in the path of amiable
Innocence and repentance plain
...

Faces that float in rivers of people heads, I meet; I see and pass
Throngs thrust through bustling city streets and alleys, buzzing noise and broken roar
Faces that come and go; silhouette of faces I see and lose in windows glass
All portraits new I will never see again; I have never seen before
...

Once upon a time in the early hours of dawn
A man got up and sallied from his cottage door
Athwart his shoulders a bow and arrows he carried
And towards the forest his steps he hurried.
...

Is it gone? Is it Silent? My pulses beat
What is it a mock trick of the brain
Yet not, I thought I saw her stand
As a shadow, a speechless phantom with awe at my feet
...

I have no thought in me but you
No other dear debt to me is due
If yet I have not all your love
I shall never have it all
...

IS it possible that I cannot die, I who drank with delight
From the cup of the crescent orbiting moon
And as the birds sing and migrate to the West
I watched them loving the scented nights of June.
...

When I die who would stand at my grave and weep
I would be there rotten, Is It really a calm pleasant sleep?
But If I could I would rather be a thousand winds that in the meadow blow.
Or I prefer the diamond glints on pre-spring snow.
...

Oh how I long for you; how does my heart rebel,
How cruel is the Time since last we said farewell
And yet I wonder why does it anger my heart to long so
For one maid out of the whole world of maids in youth and in glow?
...

Cruel jaws of Time, they take and grape in our trust
Our youth, our joys, our all world we own and have,
And pay us back but with earth, sand, and dust;
Who eventually made us in the dark and silent grave,
...

Summer, a long day staggers by, as the heat of the day ends
I realize how long ago I have seen your face,
The old wild, restless sorrow gnaws my inwards in a persistent trend
As it steals like a veracious beast from its within hiding place.
...

An autumn night, so bitter chill it is
A wide staring owl, for all its plum and thick feathers is cold
The hare long ago rushed limping trembling through the frozen maze
Into a lair, and silent stark are the song birds on a woody enfold
...