Destroyed bridges
of dreams,
intoxicating potion
of poverty –
weakness
of my country
we drink from the horn
of abundance
and in the bins
of endless
despair
unwittingly,
by chance
we put never-dying
flowers
of hopes.
Translated by Natalia Ogienko
* * * Pre-war summer of booksellers. Time has passed, and a happy life has…
The long, lonely streets of time - manic and tragic with chimes with chimes beating…
* * * Prediction as prayer - white magic rebellion over the madness of black…
Is it possible to know oneself to such depths where the light of knowledge of…
* * * Fraternisation of the Third Rome with the second Babylon-- Sodom and Gomorrah.…
Destiny, change the record. Our traitor boys have enough black things to do without you.…