A Figure Clad In Silver Shawl
I see the figure clad in silver shawl
holding the withered rose in the hand,
the Venetian mask
covers his gaze from ordinary viewers...
The lazy darkness
the coals instead of eyes.
And the sunset
sparkles in the hair of Montmartre...
The shadows lurk in the alleys,
on the boulevards and squares...
On the pavement under our feet
the shadows creep upon shadows...
The gargoyles above us
hear our entangled heartbeats,
the heartbeats of the Unfree -
under the masks, under the cloaks,
and blind are those who cannot see...
and silently wait
in the shade,
that the figure in mask
clad in silver shawl
might turn out to be you or me...
Zhulduz Baizakova's Other Poems
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