Air prayers

Horizon

To the sea

horizons meet with laziness

the seaweed companion vector

between what it looks and what it does not look like

between the end and the start

time and eternity

boundaries and infinity ...

To the sea

horizon meets with laziness ...

The curved line is the sea

like your eye on profile ...

Midnight October

October moonlight, midnight creeps fog

behind white trees, like Eunuch's ghosts

which you do not want to notice.

Under the pressure of silence,

only the inner noise of the head is heard,

with drowned rhythmic sounds, like rocks

rolling into the depths of the abyss.

On the beds sleep the day persecutors -

now feels like the humid night air

to break with the slogan of freedom ...

On the beds sleep all yesterday's killers,

while their victims,

the last light they took with them at Had

to return them to the executioners tomorrow.

Nothing ruins the tranquility of this night,

in addition to the slight knockouts of the memory door.

Sleeping are thieves, prostitutes,

gossip, snobs, poets ...

They all sleep and look more heavenly

than ever else, but this thing they do not know ...

In the wilderness sleep the scorpions,

in the ocean sleep the octopus,

sleep cobras in the woods.

October night in the whole world,

Everything feels it is somewhere,

however, walks or sleeps.

Only the fog dries all the fear,

say that it does not break the tranquility ...

October 2016

Remote conversation

                                              For D.

You can not know what happened when God created Eden,

you can not know what the first man in Eden looked at,

Your story is the lonely journey of tears,

the division of endlessness as in the legend of Ago Imer.

Your consciousness has found you on the far side

with eyes from the past,

your consciousness as mystical as your creation,

how come your life, how your way in this maze.

It's Eros and Thanathos and that's the definition -

all the cities, and all that is upon the earth

in the sweetest of these divine deities;

the flowing waters, the trees, the mountains, the polluted fields,

the waves of the sea that you have seen from the ship's turrets

in the unknown seas,

the haze that you have distinguished

from outgoing west trains,

on ghosts of trees in foreign lands,

seasons marching on the triple squadron on the screen,

since the unknown story of Eden

to any other assumption.

You can not know what happened

when the Lord razed Antlantide,

Babylon, Sodom, Gomorrah, Pompeii,

when he extended the sand to the reckless spaces in the Sahara,

when the oceans sent them to all four corners of the world,

when the Himalayas raised them to heaven and Noah's boat

climbed into a valley of Mount Ararat ...

There are so many things that no waiting is enough for them to learn.

My unprecedented reception is now turning my blood back,

from the red peony to the blue of heavenly hope.

October 2016

Bitter ballad
- for Sebastian -

I do not know how much the hour has gone by noon
And I do not know if the sun has risen to the vault of the heavens:
I'm in there with pain, scratchy,
Fly and axes talk about peace issues,
And quite a bit of enough reinforced sunshine in the corner rooms,
They're getting ready to run away somewhere.

He sits before me on a straw mattress,
He does not speak, nor does he walk on the outburst of the sun,
He laughs at me bitterly and I speak to him inferior in our lives,
Then, both of us are silently watching each other.

How long were your brothers for twenty-eight years,
Twelve and Eight Tidy Years as Death,
Twenty-eight winter in snow on the mountains,
Twenty-eight sheds with flowers and sun in life,
Twenty-eight hot summers with grain fields and cherries,
Twenty-eight in the fall when our good cherry fell?
Brother, can I keep my tears?
You have been silent for years,
And I looked through a small window,
How to get rid of the seasons outside.
You watched the mountains there as they folded,
To lie in the winter dream,
And when it's a white snowmobile that freezes you
Covering them,
They were heated ...
You were bitterly crying because you were cold in our room.

You could not see the flowers bloom for spring,
You could not touch the lambs in the green valleys,
You never met friends, you could not go to school,
You never refreshed in mountain wells and shadows,
And you could never run,
Run for birds with bells,
To climb the rocks,
Follow the sun rays that went into dreamy sinks.

Can I keep my tears?
Brother, can I keep my tears?

Now both of us together in this dark room,
All around the flooded silence,
We write our ballad of sorrow, brother,
For your eternal disease.

Spring 1993