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

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patriciajj's picture

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. 

lizardking's picture

thank you :)it's an old

thank you :)

it's an old slavic/slavonic word, I know it because I speak a little russian