The sauntering step
I throw myself
against the air
and find
freedom
from my shadow
and shadows
throw themselves
against the air
and leave behind
the clamor of eras,
like a cloud
of dragonflies
and further behind me
time ordergenericpropeciaonline.com throws itself
against everything
and leaves behind
emptinesses like
silences
those silences
swarm and
throw themselves
against me
leaving behind
a man
whose shadow’s
made of time.
Constantin Preda is 27 and writes poetry because of Nichita.
This poem is nice, I’m glad I read it.
For me, it brings to mind a guy that is noticing his own self-actualisation, or maturation, or the passing milestones of his life, and inability to leave these elements of himself despite his initial illusion that he had.
Unless I’m wrong!?
Our shadow is our own and perhaps the most interesting part of us. For me, I want to know about mine. If you ever see the DVD of mine, let me know, yeah?