Baserria (h)uz(s)ten

Our mother is gone. Earlier, father and grandmother left. To the silent land At the moment there is no one in the farm. Now we have to empty the farm. And things are not just things, they are also carriers of human traces. Closed cupboards, clothes, clothes, scarves, rooms, doors, flowers, nearby forests, wind, rain, loneliness, pain, death. There are no words to describe all this, if not poetry. Poems have helped me fill the empty space. They helped me bring out something I had forgotten deep down. A poem can suggest what cannot be said. He goes deeper into the endless abyss.