O young man with a gaze so bright,
Longing for love and verse by night,
With clumsy rhymes — “parrot” with “carrot” —
You watched the world, yet stood apart.
A tram, a cab, a southern bus —
A ruble paid, no time to fuss.
The stop was called: “Duel on the Hill!”
“Get off! Move on — don’t linger still!”
Where was your dawn — so grey, and so hard?
The barracks, a stamp, and the military card?
Mathias Rust flew on, as empires rust,
And the time spoke softly through Marcel Proust.
Europe, Germany — the southern view,
A village, a river, a viaduct too.
The mist of six years, treacherous mirage
A shattered mirror of Lilith’s visage
Forgetting doors, forgetting keys,
He sheds his mask, his old disguise.
The childlike pilgrim, astray in the dark,
The mage — ever wakened, eternal spark!
28.09. 2025
The Monologue
© Copyright: Сергей Зигле, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125092800466
Свидетельство о публикации №125092800466
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