Why the World Spins Around
Shyness of life courage of death
voice that rumbles inside your head
and burdens like wormwood on weakened chest
or a spring bowl full of uneaten fruits
beside the dead man’s bed
blind clairvoyant cursed with blessings
and all the sages of the wise
who will understand and who would withstand
bare feet deepen in sparkling snow
running scared only in nightgown
throughout the speechless mob
- and why the world spins around
much the same as the ribbon torn out
with a lock of my sister’s hair
- and why I'm freezing
whenever the fireworks ball
lights up the sky above my home
Oh… scarlet harvest of bodies and souls
I have dreamed that they were sowing
our last breaths in strayed fields
of their own remembrance
and maybe in a hundred years
someone's lips
will release our weeping into the world
by simple saying
- they also were here
- they were here!
so gather their voices like wheat in the late summer
and hand them over to starving newcomers
***
Who will deny that future is only a shadow laid by past
and we are the moths with wings of broken glass
bathed in the scattered light of countless treasures
rescued by from the family tales and legends
from dawn to dusk united or torn apart
we pursue our journey
throughout the time
in hope that our dreams
instead of reaching havens
could move the hearts of stone
and keep them calm for ever
- To my mom and aunt
who both survived the hell of war.
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