I am tired... suspiciously
Tired of light, of song, of any movement;
Since the last snow
My soul is melting
Slowly, without pain, pouring
Drop by drop, like rain
Under the pale face of
Early sun... in spring
Leaves are awaiting their
Turn to break the silence
And become free, caressed by
Winds... I'm tired
Come on and pick me up,
I'm tired... caressed by silence
I would lay down
Somewhere on the
Unawakened field
Beneath the sky
And wait
Until I became
Flowers...
(D.J., 30 martie, 2005)