My city, my first, last farewell love, let’s try not to notice
each other, familiar troubles, let’s meet for breakfast
in the homely café opposite the after-dinner war.
Guernica is already walking along the pavements of dreams
embracing nonsense, and pain as salt, whiter than the truth,
sounds like a heartbeat on the anvil of silence.
Songs finished and became deaf, over the migratory sloboda
a flock of addresses is circling, where nobody will come back to,
and the originals of life today are not in the museums of the world,
but here, in the winter streets and squares. Time is going gray
in the eyes, and we have grown old of happiness. Spirit of
freedom asks for help and reflects by the echo in the eyes of
tired peacekeepers like the cathedral of fiery passions.

2014