Author's website Alexander Korotko

***

Alarmous sorrow

of fogs

hides from hellish,

stranger’s eyes

the museum

of our waxen

faces.

What a pity

that at this time

we lack words,

we lack phrases.

Every nation has

its own Colosseum.

No offense.

Let’s set out,

you and I, on a journey.

Everything is near,

everything begins

beyond the garden

of stars:

ghost towns,

fragile statuettes

of days (all shattered).

And no visas

are needed.

Why do you hesitate?

Toss the coins,

I see you don’t want

to return here.

But that’s no sorrow.

That’s why we are here.

And what remains with us

are not the monuments 

of dreams,

but icebergs

of unmelting from the pain 

Tears.

Translated by Natalia Ogienko