Single strophe poetry
Everything has shifted
Everything has shifted
From the center to the outskirts,
Where the wilderness is more intimate,
Where the soul is more primordial,
Where all is kept on expectation,
Where all is hasteless,
Where always late
From nowhere
The recognition comes.
Before the beginning of beginnings
* * *
Before the beginning of beginnings clumsy Virgil
to all poets, born in vain,
God knows why bequeathed hopeless
sadness of his genial creations.
Closer to autumn sighted memory
Closer to autumn sighted memory
burns with its recognition,
closer to autumn life, like a hurdy-gurdy,
monotonically plays the melody of days,
closer to autumn shadows whisper
behind the back of yours and mine.
Closer to autumn. Closer and closer…
By echoes, on your lips
By echoes, on your lips,
by icebergs of unlived happiness
I return the memory to our dreams,
to a sandglass on the top of passion.
Silence like a silence
* * *
Silence like a silence,
silent, forgotten, waiting for the call,
it is, like a bent willow,
that leaned over the water
in its thoughtful greatness,
and voices, like childish birds
with incredible simplicity
rankle it – what’s wrong with you?
One insists, that all this is a lie
* * *
One insists,
that all this is a lie,
other insists,
that this is very strange,
but I’ve seen myself,
like early morning
the crows pecked
eyes of the dew.
It lurked, dreamt, grew dark
It lurked, dreamt, grew dark,
unrecognizably lived,
it sought to be and softly sang,
and suddenly converged
all together: in every gesture,
in the irreversibility of discoveries,
in that life, where we were together,
in one unrealized event.
I want to believe
I want to believe that life is successful,
in the world of illusions, hope and fear.
I’d like to believe.
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