The Lost Voice

Mirrors of the soul Feel remorse And clean up rapidly Their swords With hollow words: - “Hello” - “Hello” Some time, out of the empty hives of bees- their lips- A greeting emerges out shivering As if a numb chick Or a ghost quivering The ghosts of these greetings Would be shielded by the corpse of the silence And of course I will leave this town Towards strongly beating rivers Which grasp the throat of weakness With an openly shouted free roar of greetings While the flood of the sound Harshly beats against the cliffs And their greetings would be heard In the powerful arms of the vast valley Where the thunder and darkness Greet in the same horizon With glowing heart Away from mean timid souls Away of corners of hypocrisy Away from colorful doors Two sided mirrors The mirrors of the soul Feel remorse.