Go back to your original colors
Now, when you are onomatopoeia of cold faces
Gothic rakes didn’t in vain make orgies in castles
Diamonds in cupboard causing envy and
The angel on the black horse is one of them.
We are besieged by sea and reefs
Few cobwebs thrown at random
Like a silk dew of woods in the Ands
Where it’s dawning two times a day
So little time floats through us
Canons of wisdom are left captivated
Behind the massive walls of Alexandria.
Inexorably, time becomes a charmed circle…
A black orchid is putting its petals together
In the garden of red roses of Damask.
Another State of Consciousness
There are less and less of us, dreamers
We’re withdrawing into another state of mind
Following traces of a lost tribe
Snows in the passage are announcing some steps
Somebody is at the door of my winter lives…
We set out to the distant open-sea
When searching for a hidden shape of knowledge
Our tracks are disappearing in cold waves
Like fisherman with torn nets
I make sacrifice to gods at dawn.
Change of seasons is nothing but
Playing of a variegated duckbill,
Dead nature is left unfinished…
Great flood wept out a half of the town
Crows moved into our souls
And saints do not exist among us,
They are hidden between the lines
In the books of revelation.
Neither streets nor suburbs and large fields
Are not the creation of our foggy dreams
Surrounded by incorporeal creature’s poems
Our glance was always cast
Out of the frame of ephemeral knowledge,
But all alchemic and esoteric secrets
Were left misinterpreted
Promised kingdom can hardly be seen
Hidden by anathema of inquisitions.
We’re slowly loosing the important cosmic battle
Only one spoonful of distant star’s mass
Is enough for disappearance…
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