Wednesday, June 1, 2016




we arrive in our childhood home
my sisters-nomadic Swallows
return each year to the familial nest
they pay no heed to the difficulties of a far journey

we reminisce
until the hour of lilac clouds
swathed in the green cool of the Linden tree
and honeyed scent of flowers

the wind strumming the branches
and the curious sun
peeking through the canopy of the enormous tree
listen to the conversations

we know that we must part in the fall
I will find shelter in a distant city
black-and-white birds will go south
they will slash another azure sky

several months will pass
the sun will draw trails in the sky
it will offer strength to spreading wings
it will send an invitation to return

we will meet again
we will survive successive troubles
strengthened by the energy of the place
in which everything begun

In my house strangers live.
They erase the traces of the former owners.
They settle down and  they believe
that they will stay forever.
They want to become part of the landscape.

I see the changes.
The view from the window passed.
After a spreading lime tree only a dry stump remained
like a decayed scar.
Bee choirs in the yellow brilliance of flowers trailed off.
The wind dispersed the scent of the May lilacs.
The white phlox 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 leaves.
In different colours the walls blossom,
a new door has been fixed,
Only the time locked in the oak floor creaks the same.

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 fortune.

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" .

Pixels like the grains of sand petrified, they stopped time.
You wave your hand and try to smile to the lens,
but we both know that you will never be older.

Wild wind let the thoughts soar  to the sky,
they touched the bloody sunset over the sea.
The foamed waves blurred  the traces of bare feet with fury.

How strange, I do not remember much of those moments.
I jumped deliberately into oblivion as into the abyss.
Death by forgetfulness allows me to continue living.

The sorrow for the past is hidden in the album
of unfashionable black and white photos.
The memory of happiness is imprisoned in the frame.

I got onto the train of life
With nothing,
Without clothes,
Without  feelings.
A blank sheet of paper.
Blotting-paper absorbing everything.

I will get out burdened with bundles of
Recollections and impressions.

I packed them carefully.
Some of them faded, like
Ink from old letters.
I tied them with ribbons of all colors.
These white ones are my
Inessential remembrances
And black ones are heavy and traumatic.

I met many passengers,
Throughout  this long journey
And free-riders too,
Who were picked  up
At different  stops.

Each meeting,
Even this, the shortest one,
Like a flash of sun or
Flutter of butterfly wings
Enriched and filled my bag of experiences

I no longer have a nest here
But I come back, like a swallow,
To places of my childhood.

I wander the sandy hedgerows,
To participate in the mystery of lark song.
I arrange bouquets
Of wild poppies and cornflowers -
And raise up to the clouds.

Old trees, to which I confided my secrets,

Still grow,
Tart, wild cherries
And sweet-scented linden
As once -
I divine the world in the mirror of the lake.
I listen to the waves and the wind.

Apparently nothing has changed.
Only the cemetery hill,
Like a diary of life,
Is ever more clear

I walk along the streets of the town,
Which I once loved.
Today, I am an indifferent stranger.
I barely recognize it.

There are no more old, hospitable aunts.
No more nosy neighbors hidden behind curtains,
Or brave men with war stories.
They are gone.

Time changed everything,
Not only the people, houses, streets and trees.
It seems to me that it even
Repainted the shade of the sky

It seems to me,
I know her from somewhere.
The familiar eyes look at me.
A smile lights up her face.

She holds a diploma in hand
And believes that she can easily
Change a man and the world.
Naive girl.

Young mother
Matured with love.
Secrets of the night were to be

The happiness of days.

Power suited business woman
Sells her soul for pennies

And is screwed by corporations.
One day she will wake up.

Time is merciful

It steals moments from memory
Leaving only small fragments
And whispers of her behind


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