39 Lomonossov St., Kiev 252101, Ukraine

A horde of weary eyes at the false fountain of youth in demo against the fading of the majestic night; their hushed voice vibrates against my seat, as I enjoy the skyline while the silver moon, secretly sips my ice-cold compote. That strange looks somehow touch my own sadness, humming with the cold breeze of gentle wind and the yelling of sweet Babushka; I know…and they know, she is right; it’s time for all, to come to term with her final whistle. She’s the night watcher. Her gate of ephemeral solitude, is soon to be locked; no other entrance, unless one takes the risk, creeping like vine to reach the terrace; but it isn’t easy, ‘cos yesterday morn crushed eyes blocked the doorway that made Babushka scream, for help. Thou, I never gave her headaches; she’s really worried seeing me on the edge of the rooftop, while reading Pushkin, as the squadron of night worshippers, whining at the false fountain of youth, ‘cos of unfinished home-works.