leviathan
Dictators ride to and fro upon tigers which they dare not dismount. And the tigers are getting hungry.
Winston Churchill
my sweet boy
oh die in this doll dress
like a god in the arms
of a disbelieving priest
iron rivers bring sand
and suffering on their waves
iron birds bring emptiness
and dampness in their beaks
iron hands bring thirst in their palms
from this sea of fingers
like from waves LEVIATHAN crawls out
his constitution and plenary sessions
of deputies float out onto the plain
silt and silt like pain and pain
interfluve of emptiness and emptiness
and in the middle HE
floats
LEVIATHAN
my friend my
brother my
reflection
my monster
I love you at sunset and at dawn
I vote for you in elections and without a choice
I die for you and I don’t know who you are
because of you I lose
my brother
my son my father my
reflection
and future
priests bless your bloody fangs
war is going on but you
but YOU
don’t resurrect anyone
and hide in your cast iron waves
like in a dead man’s tea night
my sweet boy
you must to die
in this doll dress
you must to die
like a god in the arms
of a disbelieving priest
like silence that is sacrificed
although this silence
will never be broken
HIS eyes are white
like ashes and night
and three times more is ashes of battle
your eyes are sad boy
they are so black as if
leviathan tore you out
and replaced you with stones
when you were a baby
everyone wants to die but doesn’t know it
everyone wants to kill the leviathan
everyone wants to be the leviathan
everyone wants to kill kill kill
because that’s fatalism
the leviathan falls asleep after
lunch along with the thunder
of guns and statechannels
the boy falls asleep
and never wakes up
again
if someone wrote prose about this
the blood would drip like poetry
snowflake isotopes
descend on the city
everyone knows that this city
belongs to the leviathan
gasoline waterfalls descend
from the mountains of scrap metal
sleep my boy sleep
we will wake up in the forge
we will put the seal of emptiness
on your chest and sleep again
in the death row
kill kill kill death
kill kill kill the military
kill kill kill flowers
sleep my boy sleep
we will not wake up
the colonel will arrest us all
and the knot of forced humility
is already hung around our necks
god is coming
the dead are drinking
the silence
*** The author’s version of the poem, that was published in another edition in O:JA&L; Open: Journal of Arts & Letters