There the hungry wolf <br />with his teeth <br />has ripped out the hot entrails. <br /> <br />There the fugitive convict <br />stone by stone <br />has dug his grave. <br /> <br />There the naked dead <br />on a table of their bones <br />have chopped up the moon. <br /> <br />There the rutting stags, <br />their antlers entangled, <br />have turned into skeletons. <br /> <br />There on hard arid ground <br />sorcerers have woven <br />a wedding feast banner from their veins. <br /> <br />The groom is the wind, <br />the bride is the mist. <br /> <br />Amazingly in their cradle <br />(a handful of earth and hope) <br />a nameless flower opens. <br /> <br />Let's go and name it: <br />let it be called Dream.<br /><br />Slavko Janevski<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pastel/
