How we stood like two lonely trees,
moving my hands – gesticulating,
bathing words in my own halo,
I narrated my entire love story.
Was there anything else left to say?
You listened, you understood I’d burned
all the fuel I’d had in my soul,
and other brushwood
I just can’t borrow anymore.
From the enlightened little stove
from the blaze of its flames,
I have nothing left.
In my house – only a sack of sadness,
chests full of sealed illusions,
clocks with broken springs,
yellowed diplomas, photographs
with faces no longer recognized…
But above all – a holy enlightenment!