Ripples By Vera Polozkova Translation

Good Lord, you are cool, simple, smiling and continuously utter.
It's hard for a head full of noise, bounce, of nastinness - even harder.
Water me with silence while reaching out your palms through the closed shutter.

I am not on my watch, rather I fight with chaos inch by inch
I tell them "You're almighty". They're like "Great!" but then unseen they pinch
One another. I have six flights a week but to You I walk and squinch.

Should I tell You that I'm tired of my loan and that I'm less than promised?
How I laughed at wimps, how I became an entertainer but modest?
How I save my movements giving way to my doubts and things in closet?

You were somewhere close when we drunkards all sang along in the kitchen
Bob Dylan's and Vlad Visotsky's songs, all stops screwed, some started bitching.
And now you're far away when we speak of Yin and Yang and peace pigeon.

Because in your sleep - you wake up! - psychoes are nibbling one another.
I'm condemned to observe how they crave vengeance and count the days, Father.
What am I doing with optics here? Let me go, find some other.

I loved, gave my heart to only three mere humans, just three of your sons.
Now they are unreachable by air, rail or water only by sun. 
I use indifferent metal, staples, little flint, dusting - Well done!

My God, my dear Lord, how about some endorphins and serotonin?   
Would I ever live 'til or die until my single birthday holding
You? Will I ever make it through all of your music that is molding

Me? Will I make it through all of your moon rivers and all your star camps?
Where all my dead brothers are not greeting me, silenty holding lamps.
Where I'll see for myself that everything happens for a reason, champ.

Where you'll be standing half turned, face not seen with vertigo and jetlag.
With ripples on your shirt like a flag in the wind or a plastic bag,
I'll immediatley realize you're sobbing as you slowly sag.

Copyright © Agatha Jetaime | Year Posted 2015

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