In similar days
In that moldering void space
No words, no reflections
There we find all our existence
Projection of a soul on dirty canvases
Point by point it will let us see forthright
The details that are not seen in the light
And maybe it will make them shining bright
Silhouettes and paintings on canvases
With time they will begin to turn crimson
One day they will be covered with ashes:
On one of these days they will start to burn.
By Fire that is burning the heavens
The canvases will be flamed up in it
By now The fire will not simply heat
Won’t blaze and smolder like toxic ambers
Won’t glow. But it will not change anything
Burned to the ashes in the heavy rain
Nothing but dust will remain with veiling
That Scattered by the winds on a gray day
Not reaching
The tail-end
Only wait
Not finding
Any shades
Ourselves
As if
Being withered flowers
Turning to a faded dust
Dimly
Gleaming in the darkness,
Cooling down in the cold of sadness
We shall die
In silence
In a void
Fall asleep
Once for all
Once for all
And unhued
Colours on a grizzly list
In sweetness and light will exist
In the midst
Of eternal black hollow
Impendence quickly will mellow
And not
Not having time to see again
Anything but repulse of pain
Looking
At impertinent paintings
With tint of the blackest resins
In an endless mire of rotten decency
Of ruined existence of desperate vagrancy
Of disjoined aspiration for beauty and quietness
Of deformed ideas of the winds in the vastness
Of Life
Of ageless masterpieces of thoughts…
Screams in water
Nobody will hear
And with the air
The cogitations vapor
It’s Useless to look for
Trying to twig on
That doesn’t show the core
That ‘s in a crypt of reason
