Towards the dawn

Dance tune

With the hugs, the rain and wind began to ease
ushering in the Autumn with its modest dress of fallen leaves.
Homeless days of youth gathered crumbs of warmth
from the table of the universe dropped by careless stars.
Waiting for better times. Above the promised glory
executioners conjured fortune. Dawns did not rise in the west,
but in the east, to make our lives better. From happy
childhoods and blood-soaked banners we inherited
the dust of forgotten names. This age-old world, author
of our betrayals, allowed us to forget them and in exchange
harnessed for us a myriad of future realities.
Masters had fun with their hands, so the colours of the earth,
inaccessible to the eye and the heart, those we could not save
for ourselves, – invaded a canvas bleached from boredom.
Silent songs bent beneath the burden of expectation,
rousing for a moment then leaving – hardly
anyone will find them now. Cities offended passers-by.
Deserts of loneliness awaited visitors. Ravens swooped
on luck. Not at all himself, the daydreamer raved in rapture.
Blusher covered the nights of separation, nothing remained
of words heard, we passed lives of tired science –
our only sweet catch.


Youngsters for an evening. Wide-eyed dreams.
A homeless past. A life that failed the exam. A stork
brought Lenin. An overgrown thicket. Hamlet took
his existential question of existence off the agenda. Someone bought
the rights to hegemonic power. In the mausoleum the day
of orphanhood was celebrated to the full. They sang about the last battle
and in the temple were unsparing with the candles for their souls.

On the Eve

Runaways. Painted grief. No room left for black.
In dreams, as in a bleak cathedral, all lies in ruins.
So the bride cries like a widow. Patriarchs
of a toothless happiness, let luck run free. In our
never-ending gloom you will get no change
for your past. The motherland laughs behind your back.
Thanks be to God, roads are not sold into slavery.
Everything will be back. And someone will deftly glue
the life you broke into syllables while you steal away.


Colourful names. Sunrises and delights. Different times.
It’s been a long wait. Transfiguration of the lips. A fest of
extravagant words. The day is a spoilt child and rogue,
a time for comic pranks. Reason is a philanderer. A ringing
autumn silence. Empire of nights. Roads of lazy shadows.
Confused, no one’s sunset is over the horizon. A stirring of
prophetic dreams. A bouquet of arrogant dawn. The versification
of years. The heartbeat of eras. Despair and light. Whirling
angels and crumbs of doubt from the victory table.