Maria Ilieva - Pastel

Silent the night sinks
like a young girl into your eyes…
Timidly I paint you in my thoughts.
With a brush made of fire and pain.
I don’t want lightings in storm
but I want the rain to wash our faces.
To clean up sore wounds.
To wash up the insult, the whole!
Lets it rain! – over the ember burning!
Tender mist knitted of love
by my fingers with enamoured yarn.
You are painted by doves’ wings
in the white canvas of my dream…

Maria Ilieva

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