***
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
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