“the heart of a poet”

​she asked him

  “tell me what it is ,that lives in the heart of a poet! what it is like to be in there?”

he replied with a shy smile (enquiring)
” you dont know what it feels like to be in  there,huh!!”
she insisted…

he looked around  and  then pointed up towards the dark blue sky, where  under the blue of the dusky roof,   cuckoos and the other birds were singing , sitting on the dry branches of an oak tree”

and with a smile, he said

“you are like that flock of birds 

and my heart is that old tree with all those free branches, you are the keeper of my youth and my  wildness” 


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