Бродить босой по сводам потолка. Walking barefoot

No weather forecast
   can encourage my heart.
The plain air turns off,
   dreamt of Goya too much.
In the crowds of mice,
   you look like an exile.
Come with me, there’s nothing
   to lose anymore!

We will scribble a fact
   in the Tablets of Laws:
all the colors are nice
   in September’s bouquet,
but I’m tortured by fractals
   of creaking parquet,
so my feet cling themselves
   to the ceiling again.

Through the darkness of rains
   to the pastel light blue,
I would like to emerge there
   once and off-line, –
not to slip into sleep! –
   straight to Heaven awake,
having left a Goodbye
   to my hateful old bed!

“Here now” is All,
   it’s beyond Space and Time!
Everybody lives better
   with limited rights.
Why play mixing the magic
   of wonderful words?
Well, just nod that all rules
   bring us trouble in life.

Catch the swirling Full Moon,
   take your butterfly net 
and approach it childishly,
   trusting your soul!
Let your mind get a rest,
   I won’t notice it.
We are guilty of fearing
   falling in Love.

It’s a way not of sacrifice…
   Dive in yourself
and consider my words
   a pretentious joke!
I forgive your refusal
   and you in advance.
Am I angry? No! Well,
   maybe, only a bit.

But the doorbell has rung!
   So hurry, my friend,
since October will float
   like a bottomless fog.
In this concrete cold hut,
   I will walk barefoot,
but along all the vaults
   of the ceiling, alone.

August 31, 2004