Description
The Vase
I told myself lies.
The night is like a black cloth
Owls hooting
And winter is coming, my mum said.
I left my vase on the table.
I told myself lies.
A restless old storm
I was scared when the rain tired the roof of the house.
I called for spring, but my whistle was useless.
My vase is like my face
I've been abandoned
I told myself lies
Mehmet Karafilm
