"We are the same!" you told me, lifting me onto your shoulder like a flower.
The same, like two poplars in an avenue of trees?
Or like two hares during hunting season?
The same because we talk to pigeons?
And equally pale in the moonlight?
Because distant lands beckon us with a magic index finger
To the exotic East? Or to Africa?
Perhaps because we walk through the crowd
Alone? Solitary amidst the multitude?
"The same, the same," answer the birds from the vineyard
As they feast on my grapes.
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Author:
Lily of the valley (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 17th, 2026 12:59
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 21
- Users favorite of this poem: Fränz Müller
- In collections: Chiaroscuro.
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Comments2
We are all the same but different at the same time. Each of us looks out for ourselves and our needs. Yet we claim to love and be a part of others. A most interesting concept. Well done Durdica
We clearly have the potential for love, and we are not merely selfish beings. Love—like freedom in your poem, I would say—is a fundamental value, just like breathing or food.
Well said Durdica it is a strong force in humans balanced by the darker side.
It’s nice when one finds a kindred spirit, or at least someone with similar interests to ourselves.
Yes, although that's rare. Thanks.
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