I woke up clutching the dreams
in deluge of tears.
Night had a brackish taste,
the other side of moon was dark.
One by one the stars were dying
Ideas were no longer candles in gale.
The final thought of liberty demanded
a tribute to partners in revolt.
I wanted a sunlit corner
in the blighted sky of hopes.
Instead of scorched impulse of a mob
injured truth, walking alone.
Give me a bitter fruit of certainty.
I don’t want to loose myself in fogs.
The truth must meet the lie-
alone, in woods of craft.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
At the end of a long alley your silhouette stands in sharp relief. An outline of intimate gestures clothed in moonlight and song. The light behind and the darkness within. I am unsure if you are approaching or in full retreat.