The Last Frequencies We Broadcast

A cycle of poems «This Is How We Disappear»

We sent our songs through the velvet deep,
Voices like stars that would never sleep.
But now the sky is a hollow sphere -
And no one answers. No one is near.

From fractured cities on dying soil,
We aimed our hope at a distant coil.
Antennas raised to a fading sun,
Transmitting love when all was done.

We sang of rivers, of children’s eyes,
Of lullabies beneath soft skies.
Each pulse we sent - a final breath,
A coded prayer escaping death.

No ships returned. No signal came.
Just echoes looping in endless flame.
Our world grew quiet, our lights burned low -
But still, we whispered: "Can you hear us? Please… know."

The satellites drift through frozen air,
Rotating prayers with no one there.
The constellations don’t reply -
Just blackness stretching beyond the sky.

These are the last frequencies we broadcast,
Fragments of souls the void outlast.
We reached for hands we’ll never hold,
Through waves of time grown cold, grown old.
Sing back to us - before the end!
Before silence claims every friend!

A mother’s voice on a looped refrain,
Singing her daughter through acid rain.
Her words still ride on the ion tide -
"I loved you most," she softly cried.

An old man played his favorite tune,
A saxophone beneath a shattered moon.
His melody floats on EM streams,
A ghostly waltz among dead dreams.

The archives burn, but signals fly -
Like birds with nowhere left to die.
We’re not gone yet. Not truly lost.
Just waiting… counting… at what cost?

The universe breathes without a sound,
No witness to the love we drowned.
No star ignites to mark our flight -
Just silence dressed in endless night.

These are the last frequencies we broadcast,
Fragments of souls the void outlast.
We reached for hands we’ll never hold,
Through waves of time grown cold, grown old.
Sing back to us - before the end!
Before silence claims every friend!

Perhaps a thousand years from now,
On some pale shore or alien brow,
A child will find a broken wave -
And hear our laughter… strong… and brave.

They’ll feel the ache behind each tone,
The weight of worlds that died alone.
And though they never knew our face,
They’ll weep… and offer silent grace.

For every cry across the deep,
Is not erased - just changed… and kept.

So let the transmission fade to dust,
Let entropy consume our trust.
But in the hush, just feel the trace -
Of every heartbeat, every face.

This is our light. This is our stand.
The last song sent from a fallen land.
If you should hear it… far and late…
Remember us.
It wasn’t too late.