It’s too late to check routes
with God's plan,
even crosses have gone from the curb.
What’s to lose for us now, my friend?
Lives expired their dates long ago.
Karma’s holding the helm of True Love.
Death still threatens to dissipate ghosts.
Every city – you’ve been to – will sink
in oblivion as a mirage.
Can the frames of the earthly prevent
poor spirits from meeting again?
People choose other’s small birds.
The crane
took offense and dissolved in the flock.
All the fabrics of fate are so dark.
Facing South, my wings follow birds.
Look, a window’s floating up,
and some pages are swirling within, –
That is me.
July 16, 2012
Эпитафия. Epitaph
© Copyright: Александра Крючкова, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125122905892
Свидетельство о публикации №125122905892
Рецензии