The branch

There's no much pleasure

In these days.

But yet I left a stick on a top of a tree

In a park.

Got there again, 3 weeks after

And there it was.

A special stick, an immaginary magical wand,

The sharpest mythological sword,

The scythe of a god.

A branch from a tree.

Dettached and disguised in its own.

Hiding in the clearest and soberest place

A naked tree in the middle of the park

At the epicenter of the city

At the heart of the ordinary darkness -

There it was again.

My gift to myself

My selfless self embodied

As a 4 year old boy -

My own broken omnipotent branch.