It’s unequal that leaves
no room for a hope.
I’ve been caught, as we all,
but the cats don’t complain.
Every night on the roof,
full of dreams as before,
they just count the cuckoo
while purring in rhyme.
Put your hopes in prayers
on rosary beads.
It’s not late for goodbye,
but too early to leave! –
in the Ninth of the Heavens,
it’s all still three-starred,
a soprano, winged one,
sings like out of tune.
The results of the way
are both carrots and whips.
To be happy – forget
in the womb of your trap
that God finds all the rhymes
and the rosary beads,
and the counts of cuckoo,
amusing enough.
June 16, 2004
Ловушка. A trap
© Copyright: Александра Крючкова, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125122806330
Свидетельство о публикации №125122806330
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