Consciousness

Stefánia Mándy

1944

our lightless awful days are passing
splinters of memories prick our brains
daily our Creator beats us using both hands
we are his dry weeds husked to the core
for us fire is no fire for us it is death
the earth for us is no earth it is hell
not for us green gardens our hearts about to stop
I can see my brother a silent statue
slow decay with…
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