Slavka Bozovic

Slavka Bozovic

The gift of the gods . . .

I don't know where the sources of creativity come from, to flow from the depths of poetic souls, and like a torrent of a mountain stream, during empathy they flow into a sea of ​​dreams.

Is it the gift of the heavenly messengers, pulsing with blessing through the aorta of the heart, giving birth to light through the endless fields of poetics, creating incredibly enchanting images.

Probably the gods came up with and agreed, to nest in the poet's eye of a bird, underfoot, stretching the charms of the galaxy, so at night they grab the scrolls with the fingers of spirituality.

Poets are angels flying on a saddle of clouds, through the secret labyrinths of the pink world, diligently dancing on poetic flower meadows, and like bees, they collect sweet deeds in hives.

© Slavka Bozovic