Author Information
свобода
i am a man, a match, a burning mass, a billow of a flame
i am a coal, a soul, a fulness i'm unable to relate
my name is dream, my flesh is grass, and i grow older every day
please visit me when i collapse, when i am tired, old and gray
and it comes sooner than you'd like
before you comprehend that you're alive
time passes by
flesh withers dry
ashes to ashes, someday you will die
i was like you, i knew, i waked, i walked, i talked, i took a few
i had a wife and seven kids, i died in nineteen-thirtytwo
my name is words, my flesh is dirt, my name is carved into a grave
please leave some flowers on the stone, i like you better when you pray
I was captivated by the first
I was captivated by the first stanza that has the majesty of a sweeping overture as you present astounding analogies illustrating the transience of human life. Quickly it swells into moving declarations of realities we often hide from, but need to remember in order to keep a broader perspective and an appreciation for the time we now have.
You say it with elegant candor as you shift our focus to a time-worn grave and thoughts beyond our tiny, fleeting lives.
But what I found most intriguing was your title. From Bulgarian (I hope I got that right) it translates as "freedom". How perfect!
I gained much from this poem. Thank you.
thank you :)it's an old
thank you :)
it's an old slavic/slavonic word, I know it because I speak a little russian