Poezja

 

 


I knocked at your mind.

Let me in - I asked.

I have brought you something,

my crazy thoughts and dreams,

the works collected from

the oceans of creativity.

Look how pretty they are,

even the smallest ones,

smaller than the sand.



I do not want them - you answered.

My world is sterile,

arranged and known.

Your every written poem

Can ruin my calm,

Which was built over years.

The recognition can be painful

Because of its insolence and ignorance.

The questions wake up the sleeping fears.

I prefer to stay safely in

well - known loneliness.