Under this sky
which does not spend the night in empty hearts
what once was seen or only heard
quickly goes away
miraculously changed from runaway to pursuer
who does not believe that would accompany us again
Look how his step grows weaker
How his time trickles away
And how he disappears in his own echo
In the deaf caverns of memory
And then suddenly his steps are heard again:
Pace of a weary horse
Trapped in thin reeds
With clouds of insects round his neck
My father said: the sky does not descend
In empty hearts
The saber does not wake
in a drowsy arm
And memory is the fastest horse
Which can take you the farthest
(Why he said this
once he lost his past
His past was dismembered
By the Cyclops of Revolution)
It seemed that he forgot that the sun’s spring
Only points to the road of sunset
And that the star
which falls in the fountains of darkness
is just a gold coin
that someone throws from the balconies of night
(Yet the morning never forgets
to descend in the rooms of night)
And where could he descend
from the balcony of his own darkness
And what door was he then to open
In the house of bad weather
In the home of the defeated
The horse
The sharp saber
The vanished past
And the Cossack’s crazy head
From the cave of memory
Which opens at times.