Wrapped in wind
are my thoughts,
on silvern swallow's wings
sailing into the unknown.
beneath me, are those without wings,
whose wings are lame,
shaded in patches of fog,
taking their views from confined windows,
taking their stand on anchored feet,
they are in love with the warm beds
and the sellers of crutches and pills.
WILL BE ADDED TO LATER DATE!
This poem has been published in German by the Edition Farangis
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