Poetry

It should not have come early;
the death, had insulted the terrible suffering.
Shadows were lengthening.

I wanted to live
in infinite nothingness
of the wrong time.
Hope was not
a perforated dimension,
it was my religion.

When nobody was there
truth was walking with me.
A strange tragedy
was visible only to me.

The future hides in my face.
The terror is too much
with us. No frown of earth
defies the questions of past.