Unfinished, Op.8

it was pure silence and perfect darkness
a place of my own that I perceived through smell
until I became full chthonian mother
for sledgehammers drilling machines car honks
lasting for hours whizzing ventilators
children dancing like Kozachok troupes TV sets
heated up to the maximum
youngsters always yelling the same slogans
about lower anatomical parts

because everything was perfectly tuned like the hearing of a good conductor
depending on the ratio between falling stars and ephemeral flowers
they said that since babyhood I was too wise and silent
that they tightened the diapers around my feet
an old-time method to make them straighter
and no one heard me crying

my silence was black the same way a perfect noise is white
I was among those left without parachute in the high skies
somewhere over the snow fallen still alive according to statistics
and this happened before I understood that others too
can never tick in vain

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Categories: My poems in 2016 | Tags: | Leave a comment

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