BAREFOOT ON THE
I walk barefoot on the stubble.
I turn back time.
Again, I'm a girl with blond braids.
I weave camomiles and cornflowers into my hair.
I know how to place my feet, so as not hurt them with the
sharp thorns .
I walked far.
My heels pierced the ground, the doubts of my mind.
I lost my trust of a child, and my confidence of being.
I do not know what happened to
My faith in
humanity and my good
I return from memories.
I look for relief in the song of larks.
Can I find the forgotten dreams?
Regain a slice of the lost paradise?
Somewhere, in the stubble lies the old "I"
The strangers live in my old house.
They erase the traces of the former owners.
They settle down and want to become part of the landscape.
The view from the window passed.
After a spreading lime tree only a dry stump remained - a decayed
Bee choirs in the yellow brilliance of flowers trailed off.
The wind dispersed the scent of the May lilacs.
The white phloxes disappeared from the garden.
The walls are bare, the bricks blush.
The grapevine does not peep through the windows.
It won't offer its sweet berries full of syrupy juice on the green
I see the changes
In different colors the walls blossom
And a new door has been fixed.
Only the time locked in the oak floor creaks the same.