Poezja

Words were unable to explain 
the darkness of unholy marriage, 
of terror with chrysanthemum. 
And bullet did not know the target 
it flew on command to kill the smell of a man. 
 
My song now hangs like a dirty laundry 
on the wall of peace. 
Death of green eyes, must come in few days. 
The lamps will mourn for the light. 
 
I wonder sometimes, when time comes 
How I will kiss the death 
And how death will embrace me.