Pungent apple
an onion is like a memories
pungent and sweet hugged together into nine skins
under the golden husk baked on the sun
wrapped only with a translucent membrane
you'll recognize it bitterness after the tears
and it sweetness from its clarity
cleared of the salt and bitterness of wail
remains to chop all together
like sauce for one carefree Sunday lunch
but what did thought the empty bowls
between the knives and forks in prayer
silent in front of the chairs whisper
waiting to start the solemn lunch
set at the table for one man
yet was it so
or the memories pungent hugged
sometimes are just playing with the fog
and with the salt in the eyes when the bitterness and sweetness
will relent before the quiet gal of fate
Yes, it is so, pungent and sweet hugged into nine skins
an onion is like life especially when you abrade it
and its fragile membrane will be peeled of tears
before it didn’t rise on the palm and before its sugar whiteness
didn’t deceived you to bite that pungent apple
without which we hadn’t the taste of celebration
Borce Panov
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beautiful poetry here my fellow poet, keep up the good work