To Lior



A road, two poles
A narrow path
A barbershop across the street
Some leaves on yellow hopeless grass
And endless screams from neighbors' door

The soul seeks for something more
for something purple to appear
to live, to blossom, to endure
to scatter a silky, purple scent
on every violet petal

Till then
A road, endless screams
A barbershop across the street
Two poles, some leaves, a narrow path
On hopeless, yellow grass