O pretty troubadours!
Play flutes made out of wood.
Your tunes remind us softly

Of old and ancient moods;
Of the medieval ladies,
Who strolled down fields of green,

Of lovers, speaking gently,
Not wishing to be seen.
O pretty troubadours!

Play loud your clear songs.
Let melodies be answered,
Let melodies endure.

(c)kRu, 1997

Hey there, Dr. Winston O'Boogie!
How is it on clouds up above?
Do you watch them roll, watch 'em moving?
Or fly with a thousand doves?

Hey, hey, Dr. Winston O'Boogie!
Come! Write a prescription for us.
Remind us how to boogie-woogie
Again. We've forgotten. Alas.

(c)kRu, 1997

*

The "happy heart" is happy less and less.
Some Courage, please! - to start the search for Lights...
The Inner Child's discouraged and distressed;
No joy is there - only faintest wights.

So - "happy heart" keeps wandering aloft...
Afar somewhere with remnants of the rays;
And further up from sanity, astray.

(c)kRu, 24.06.-08.09.09

*

A flower grows
Amid stone walls.
A flower grows
In cement walls.

It does not see
The gray concrete.
It does not notice
The cruel rocks.

The shining light
Is oh-so-high!
The sheen-white clouds
Are oh-so-nigh!

The flower stretches
Ever forth.
Out of the trenches
Ever strains -

Away, away
From fated cairns.

(c)kRu, 07.09.-08.09.09