The night was breathless and full of threat.
The hand dived into the darkness,
Instantly becoming wet with sweat.
The sea completely calm in its starkness.

There was a melancholy, hopelessness,
Something more distinct in this drift, callousness.
From the walls of the cranium, waiting to emerge,
Though swept through the crown with electric discharge.

Dawn flashed about seven o’clock in the morning.
The sun was in a hurry to be born again from the ocean of ink,
Ripping the sky wound, spreading to the full horizon, burning…
Sooner or later the night will cease, that never would go without kink.

Even the midnight madness has expiration date:
Cold ice melts under the direct sun rays,
Sweet sugar dissolves in the stale water plate,
But sometimes night water burns…


You’d never expect that…