Walking On The Territories of Poetry

I'm now walking
on the once forbidden territories
on the edge of which
I lingered long ago.
Then left and went
to walk
on the paths of so called "Happyland."

For a long time
I lay down
and watched the spacious sky
searching among starry multitudes
my own wishes,
but all I saw
was missing pieces.


Saw worthless, wordless, reminiscences
saw 17th century bridges
crossed by forebearers
wanderers of Silk Roads
saw the shiny bullion
they carried back
for the expenses of the Court
in exchange for Dear Life.
Saw the earth's declining ochre
and the turquoise of minarets
colouring the structure of memory.

In the loneliness of a Zoersel sky
saw the loneliness of a Vera Fosty
hers, hang in a Baya sky.
Saw her words of poetry
like droplets of water
that nobody drinks anymore.
Saw Vera's Titles,
"Roses of Time"
"Added Value"
that most significant
of all her poems
along with the last one
dedicated to eternity
that "Last Poem"
with prayer words
to not become infatuated
with useless rhyme
are now unexpectedely
exquisite relevancies.

All the Walks
all the Arts
are now taking me
once again
not on the edges
but this time well into
Territories
where once I didn't dare to go
where words can freely
roam and play,
love each other
warble or trill
and make me quarry
rubbles
from inside me.

Flora