|SINGING IN THE RAIN|
The fingers of the rain are tapping at the windows|
Many times I send my thought ahead
to examine the landscape
and then to wait for me as for a dog.
The fingers of the rain are tapping at the windows
I can't sing anymore
I can't manage the words
neither the flower
nor the car
nor the oxencart.
I can't manage to can
And the fingers of the rain are lapping at the windows
They are taking
my eyes away
through the glass
for a walk
Come on, my darling and clean into myself.
|Florentin Smarandache was born in Valcea, Romania 1954. In the 1980s he set up the Paradoxist Literary Movement. He is a polymath and has published over eighty books in literature (poetry, dramas, novel, essays, short stories, translations, diary), arts (his outer-art), rebus, philosophy (neutrosophy as a generalisation of dialectics), mathematics (see the Smarandache algebraic structures and Smarandache geometries), quantum physics, engineering and cybernetics (information fusion). Another poem can be found on The Zimmerzine Archive.||
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© Florentin Smarandache, 1999
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This page last updated: 12th November 2006.