24 Hours

It feels like a day has gone by — not a decade,
we waited for sunrise, knew how to feel elated,
filled up our beings with secret fillings —
but is this leather worth all the skinnings,
when fates are so short, so swiftly they’re braided,
you cannot tell villains from judges they’ve shaded.
Years don’t arrive anymore, overrated —
they rush in a flood, like the waters unstated.

On waves lie no lambs — only stubborn old rams,
and lakes that were small turned to oceans again.
And down city streets walk Neanderthals pacing,
sand slips through fingers, the looms interlacing.
Streams of awareness chase echoes and theories —
homes are no nests, just apartments and drearies.
Beloved old city turned strange in a minute,
no law and no wind seem to hold any limit —
windows are shattered, and doors have been broken,
wild beasts burst in life, leaving terror unspoken,
blasting and tearing, assaulting and burning,
drowning won’t save even those who were turning.

Lines from a song stuck and tangled inside you,
nothing will happen, though loss may divide you —
split into atoms and carbon so hollow,
Nature won’t miss you, has no storm to follow,
ants or the people — to her it’s the same,
each leaves a mark in an emerald grain,
coal-dusted ashes, a petal of guessing
and someone’s small doodle in pocket still pressing,
dates like small notches or seedlings unrooted —
feels like a day has gone by — not a decade, refuted.

You barely breathed in when the out-breath came near you,
you never sorted what species drew fear through,
never decided if love takes or gives you,
cannot remember what moment uplifted you.
Numbers flash by with a short little flicker,
seems you could find them — one mouse-click is quicker —
that very year when your parents were living,
when you would dive off the cliff, unforgiving.
Surfaced — and centuries flew like a train,
station signboards have faded again.

Even the questions were never yet spoken,
craters appear not in soil but in tokens —
deep in the heart, like the rustle of paper,
pencil and crossword from evening’s old vapor.
Hour is a minute, a day is a sigh,
flutter of lashes, a breeze passing by.
Suddenly into forget-me-not’s blue you’re sinking —
a day has gone by — not a decade, just blinking.

 © Valeriya Korennaya

Песня здесь: youtu.be/f0FfE4kJqS4