A bird flying
Is a flight in self.
It is a movement
In self and
It is a cry, too.
I hunt the sound.
I shoot its wing.
I feel that
The air fractures.
The flight is fractured.
I still love you.
For sure, for sure, I still love you.
The feeling slips
In the place,
From where the white bird fell
From the moment
To the eternity.
In that place,
To bear your name
As a red spot on the
A spot, which could be white.
Can be crushed,
That pain taking another pain
From the agony of death
Between saints, only
He has our feelings, too.
To touch Him.
Marieta Maglas's Other Poems
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