monica manolachi

nameless flower

one day, looking into your entranced eyes
I could not tell if we were plucked petals or not
or what was the name of the flower which had enslaved us
with its counting and categorical questions.
the world stopped for a moment, no singing birds
in the trees, the cars felt fast asleep,
the wind stopped whispering nonsense in your ear.
even the sun forgot to set
and the things lost their names.
then we both caught the apple and didn’t let it fall.
it fell actually, but in our hands. it was a singing apple,
with bitter seeds, for which we’ve been paying by installments
with our ignorant and unknown soul,
where the world keeps trying to be.

Poem by Monica Manolachi