***
alley of non-existent views
despite the fact that the birds did not return
from distant countries:::
spring has come
***
small misfortunes ooze from all cracks
birds die as soldiers lovers become unloved
and only the swallow flies overhead as freely as before the war
the swallow does not ask for names and secrets but simply flies
and together with the bird with a scalpel flies the potency of years forgotten by doctors
not taken into account by seconds of happiness when you are next to me
***
what are you doing while the world around you becomes dead
what do you crave
how many needles are in your skin
how much need + thirst is in your skin
we part forever as strangers
I will forever forget that you appeared before me
as a swallow of new days
and forever captured the long-dead
where to get the air that will no longer fill our bedroom
where to get warmth for a person with a sweater instead of a body
in what language to kill the past in which I still live stomping in the future
***
my duty is over
another boy not born in the dark sailed away to nowhere
soap bubbles of pink walls of the red night
when I came into this world fresh
and now I’m squeezed into the tea of death like an iron lemon
if my ex-husband decided to write a novel about me
then black poems of white darkness would turn out
the purity of the stars in the sky
among the hearty voids of the mountains the wind of change roams
a grown old child who will forever wait for his mary poppins
infinity murder
all in vain
***
crunching feet and feet of foliage under our boots
trees have long wanted to punish us for our violence
but all trees can do is grow deeper into the ground and be silent
***
Drops play with their own transparency
I’d like to know what’s really in your head
I would like to know what’s really in my head
The ice grows over and acquires new scars
The hope inside me is the last to die
But outwardly I’ve been dead for a long time
Steam rises up as if there were no dreams at all
I bury birds on the pier and trample sand castles
This is how I trample and bury your portrait painted in my head
It starts to rain and your mouth opens to drink
I still love you like at the beginning
I’m still dying like the unborn Jesus
I’m still alive but in vain
***
masters of dreams
beetles hide
in autumn leaves
***
other free birds sit in the trees
fear of freedom in feathers sits in the trees
people sit around blood and murder
people sit inside the blood and murders
***
What are we looking for instead of freedom?
a man walks alone along the road
and the road seems to him to be the road to heaven
what should we do during the war?
only to move on and seek peace
just live at any cost
What is a person in essence?
The whole gamut of despair from red to white
and that child who walks along the main road
where will the child go?
***
a storm is brewing
inside my heart