***
Folds near the lips, as if dried
tributaries, that once fell
at the mouth of a large river.
A trap of embalmed wrinkles
in the mausoleum of your face.
Eyes, sentinels on guard
of unfulfilled hopes, and cheeks,
once looked like hills
and now – like the gullies.
And here is the forehead with the ones moved
tectonic fissures,
that resemble the dams — after all
you cannot cross the wade of life.
A face is like a place, like an uninhabited island,
lived in happy seclusion
under the supervision of tired time.
* * * 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.…