This time, the poet was old
Large crevases were imprinted on his face
He had the stare of a woolf
The voice was screeching my ears
Memories from a lost father were filling the room
Somewhere far behind us some poets
Were spitting methaphores to illustrate our drama
' you are beautiful' he says
I know! Do not worry, it will pass!
And he laughs and I run too afraid
to lose another idol
Poem by Iulia Gherghei 19 Octomber 2014