Today again I saw a gate in the sky.
Streams of pale light trickled through it.
I no longer looked at the sun, only straight ahead,
My silhouette reflected in the ***** tram window.
I looked farther, hypnotized,
sipping words veiled in the dust of the autumn sun.
Dry spaces. Leaves.
Golden bile sparkled,
And no one saw this wonder in the sky.
At the stop, in the crowd rushing by,
An experiment took place:
A man wrapped in copper threads.
He searched for relief while anger bound his soul.
He fought the air, attacked with words,
Like a puppet moving in convulsions.
Hands clenched, anger in his eyes.
“This will pass, this will fade,” I thought,
Moving to another car.
A primal tremor. A change of frequency.
Someone is turning the **** of our universe.
How many more cells of the body will they spoil
Before it is ground to ashes?
Until all ends in colonization,
A reward for micro-souls from another world.
People sunk in their minds
do not hear the hum of strings.
And I plead in my thoughts:
listen, look, be your reality.
Behind the gate a hundred weeks ago,
a crackling gramophone plays.
My calm relieves someone’s thoughts.
Somewhere, thousands of hours ago,
the past becomes the future.
Next time when you pass by me, indifferent,
the warmth of my thought will warm your
Dry, wrinkled hands.
I will never know You, and I would like to know
what you will say when these trembling words arrive on the wind.
In the autumn glow of the setting sun,
Like a gentle brushing of leaves at the next opening of the gate.
I will be there in the crack like a stray thought
that wanted to become immortality.