Slavko Janevski - Pastel

There the hungry wolf
with his teeth
has ripped out the hot entrails.

There the fugitive convict
stone by stone
has dug his grave.

There the naked dead
on a table of their bones
have chopped up the moon.

There the rutting stags,
their antlers entangled,
have turned into skeletons.

There on hard arid ground
sorcerers have woven
a wedding feast banner from their veins.

The groom is the wind,
the bride is the mist.

Amazingly in their cradle
(a handful of earth and hope)
a nameless flower opens.

Let's go and name it:
let it be called Dream.

Slavko Janevski

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pastel/