God, oh, the Seagull of Tallinn,
Of Genova, of all the places known,
Keep me away
From Eugenia today.
She is so sweet
And wants me to be nice.
But I’m having a headache!!!

Oh, the Princess of Kharkiv, a friend of the Seagull,
Don’t let you have any pangs of conscience!
When the Doctor’s window was shuttered, he chose the oceans
Of sadness to travel... to the crumbles of that sadness.
The world had not recognised him and no Maria Magdalene was offered.
Oh, the friend of the Seagull, do not have any pangs!
You were always there, always on the request, always
To fly in the clouds, to make a step in the clouds...
The first step in the clouds.
The first human in the clouds...
The first.

28.5.22

Try to imagine what to say because
Your field of life was destructed
As you were too bad to live,
Too bad (with an odd face and strange eyes) to look nice.

Try to imagine what to write because
There are mirrors of the unknown,
The thing you have to understand before your death
That all moths must live before their death.

But when your face looks bad and shameful,
We liberally choose the best children
And all the moths must die before their life.
There is not any sense, and life is not a value.

Clapping echoes of reality deduce impossibilities.
Scissors tear many flowers, many shy realities.

I was there and I was screaming.
While dying, I saw you, my father, you were abroad.
But I know my mother so well,
She travelled overseas,
I was killed finally in her country.
And, her doctor said, “Be more careful
From next time, this is quite a late abortion”.
I was there and then I started to be destroyed,
It was like a cell by a cell…
The suction and curettage method, they say.
Now I am in the heaven as every soul
Belongs to the God. He is here. Eternal Love.
I am innocent.
I am waiting for you, my parents,
I know that you were not married finally
After what happened.
You live in your families
And play your social roles, of parents as well,
But sometimes you think of each other and
About me. Who would I have been?
A boy? A girl?
I will not tell you now.
What would our life together have been?
“Different; maybe better, maybe worse, but different”,
My mother wrote to my father after 13 years of silence.
I will meet you maybe one day.
I know you have suffered a lot.
I have forgiven you.
I know your economic status was low and...
It was almost impossible to make me live.
I am waiting for you in the heaven.
God bless you and God bless all.
Your child.

P.S. Please, do not turn off the light in your life. I love you. I am like a little dog in a lonely house. But I am not lonely although I am waiting for you.

So in the moment
I am looking
At my past,
Asking:
So was that my life?
Was THAT my life really?!
And, is that all?

How sad it was then!
If it was my life...
When I look at my past...

When it was my life...
If it was my life...

But it was my life.
And I cannot believe that
We were like ants... or I was
A moth flying to the light
Of the candle
To be burnt before enjoying
My sad life.

Your nice life.
Happy life, folks!

Oh, God, the sad Saviour,
"How is it when your heart
Is broken?" - asked Father Pasierb,
Meaning the Christ, who was killed by the brutal Jews
And the cynical Romans.

Oh, it was Gethsemane. Wild, sad, mad.

Jerusalem now,
How is it when your heart
Is broken? Torn into pieces like a paper
In the desk full of dust and puddles.

How to be the Gethsemane of Israel?
Eternal pain, mutual punishment,
Life like a farce, life like a sacred value.

Oh, Jerusalem,
How is it when your heart
Is broken?

Oh, Jerusalem,
The flower of the Middle East
Awoken.

Oh, Jerusalem,
King David is coming!...
It is so foggy.

Open your gates!
In the fog, you see
The sun; it is not boggy.

Open your gates!
Let your towers kneel down
To welcome the King...

Move your gates,
Let your towers dance!
The King is here, in full swing!

With his army,
The King is coming!
Oh, Jerusalem, do not cry.

You are not like a ******.
Like Bathsheba, you know a lot:
Her heart was soft, her womb - dry.

Oh, Jerusalem, do not cry.
Like a patient, be patient;
Wait and... wait for your “Godot”.

He is on the way from Ashdod.
Like Aslan, he is coming in the spring,
Like Jesus, he loves his mystical string.

Be blessed, oh, the Flower:
David on the way to Jerusalem.

28.5.21, J.