I know
some people want me,
I get that, but
I want to be  a bit less wanted
in my life.

Actually, if I'm honest,
to be completely unwanted
would be nice.

At once to be unwanted
before I die,

for it's a headache being wanted
all the time,
dead or alive.
The man told her she should undress,
and lay down, submit
to his lust,
use her mouth and tongue
to make him happy,
as she has got talent to do it,
and that even God said
to put our talents to work,
not bury them in the ground.

But the true talent she had
was telling truth from man's lie.
I was circled today
by a gang of squirrels
in Terrace Gardens in Richmond.
There were like five of them.

They were getting closer and closer
and I was scared
that they would jump on me
and worse.
But they didn't even try.
It was an innocent,
very formidable gang.

They were running around me,
trying to find out
what I am:
A monster?
A big nut?
But then they quickly run off
to their squirrel world.

I still wonder why
they greeted me with happiness,
not with fright...
Maybe they realized
that I am on their side.
I'm sure that you too,
at some point in your life,
had to give up on something
against your will,
and become the part of something
you never wanted to be.
I bet you too
were too beautiful, too fragile
to win and not to bend your knees
under the weight of coersion.

I'm pretty certain,
that wherever and whoever you are,
you too happened to be
a victim of smaller or bigger Anschluss,
when your life suddenly ended,
you woke up in the country,
which wasn't longer yours,
in the stranger's skin,
and when everything what was beautiful and frail in you
was killed.

But don't be sad,
for when the moment of the truth comes,
it won't be you
hurriedly swallowing
a cyanide pill.
The poem written for the anniversary of Anschluss. Eighty years ago, on the 12th of March 1938 Germany annected Austria. Anschluss - germ. annection.
I've chosen to have no name,
for if I had one,
everyone else,
either nameless, or with a different name,
would be my enemy.

I've chosen to have no home,
for if I had one,
those who live in the street would hate me.

I've chosen not to belong to any country,
for if I did,
then those who don't belong to it,
wouldn't let me sleep.

I've chosen to have nothing to say,
for if I did,
people who think something different,
would trouble me.

And even now, living my life,
I can feel an envious howl of those,
who passed away or yet weren't born.

And when my time comes, I'll rest in peace,
but it won't be peace, I'm afraid,
for those who breath will bother my bones,
jealously hating me
for being - dead.
You are here,
even more than you were
before you passed away.

I talk with you every night.
I tell you how was my day
and what makes me happy, or sad.
I tell you my life.
And even if you are not with me -
you are.
When I cry,
you come to me, you wipe my tears,
only you know how to stop them run.

We speak in the language of memories,
and we understand each other well,
without unnecessary words.
I close my eyes
and I see your smile,
your face.

I never craved life,
it often wanted to abandon me,
destroy me, make me leave,
but I won't give up,
because you are here.

I will carry this flickering flame of love
in my closed hands,
through the stormy weather
to the end.

Thank you for being for me all the time.
I sometimes think I didn't deserve you,
that's how perfect you were -
you are.

Thank you for the privilege
of being your child.

Happy Mother's Day, mum.
I'm sitting in my room,
believing that I can change the world,
knowing that I can't,

I'm sitting here, alone,
I'm thinking of those who suffer,
those who've lost everything,
those, who will never feel like home.

I'm sad,
feeling like crying,
wishing to save the world,
knowing well that I won't,

but I'll keep on trying.
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