All loves are just the dust on the road
which we are picking and stacking down in some
softer part of us, then sometimes
after being crushed of wandering and insomnia
we stop in the middle of the street, asking ourselves
who has left that husky emptiness in the sight
who left the blunt echoes on the footpath
and who, just accidentally thrown words
Vinko Kalinic
(Translated into English
Darko Kotevski, Melbourne, Australia)
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