It is dark in heavens
The shy stars are hiding
Behind the light’s eyes.
The battlefield of being
Is now in our hearts
Hourglass of blood.
Each instant spills out
A droplet of life’s miracle
The ransom to loiter
Out hedges of death.
Our souls, unseen birds,
Sing each morning
On branches of the tree of life
Yet no one is there to listen.
Hallowed numinous fires
Burn at heavens’ horizons
Faces of saints are glowing
On sacred icons on glass.
vezi mai multe poezii de: marin.mihalache