Poezja

Monday: 
He sharpens  his dream 
By the hone of the  illusion, 
Under his arm 
He put roses  
And a bit of of life's basils 
Then goes to his work. 
-------- 
Tuesday: 
He says to the beloved: 
Tomorrow, when  the dreams tree  leaves
On our stature,
And the light leapt smiling 
In Our eyeballs 
Humbly will come the sea 
And give  us its waves. 
-------- 
Wednesday: 
From the breast of the clouds he suckles
Five songs, 
And by the stone 
He slaughters the weathercock. 
-------- 
Thursday: 
He irrigates his memoirs 
With the water of trouble,
 In the evening 
He expectes to be kidnapped. 
-------- 
Friday: 
When he comes to the cafe 
He drinks from his cup
 A quantity of eulogies 
About the  members of his tribe,
And when he goes out  
He buries his misgivings in his pockets. 
-------- 
Saturday: 
He goes to  the city bar 
And behind him he pulls 
The chariot of the grief, 
Instills in the field of his body 
Seedlings of the wine 
To make himself melted. 
-------- 
Sunday: 
His feet take him  
Where the nightmares of the road are,
His eyes lurk among the passers-by.