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Poetry by Vladimir Fischer
Photo by Tadeu Jnr
“Grasping rope above the fall…”
Last drops of sanity
are escaping with
the droplets of the sweat
down my tanned neck
then sliding down
my aching spine.
My fingers tremble
as they try to hold the line,
grasping rope above the fall
activity unceremonious and ugly,
full of greed, survival instinct,
craving.
How did I end up here
between these two crags,
two beating hearts
of mine?
No, that’s wrong,
I left my heart in Prague,
forgot my soul in Porto
by the Duoro,
only body – skin and bones
are flapping on the rope,
dawdling, creating friction
for a smoke.
Poetry by Vladimir Fischer
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