Yekaterina Bezpalaya

I walk through a patch of yellow flowers,
Some have shimmer, some have a glint of gold.

Others invite the sun to play,
...

A pencil, some paper,
a pen, and a chair.
A desk by the window,
and the wind through your hair.
...

No one knows the rocks that burden my shoulder,
breaking bones piece by piece.
No one sees my rapid heartbeats,
as they are drowned by head hard thoughts.
...

The bead from a necklace,
The kiss from a date.

The love from my parents,
...

These hands have touched everything,
as so far goes the truth.
The deep, ridged scars,
are the obvious proof.
...

There are so many parts to this girl that you see,
Feigned smiles are only a tidbit of she.
Well-practiced acts doth she show,
But of seams on the heart,
...

A sweet aroma of freshness hardly lingers,
slightly unconcealed.
Cracks in the sky invisibly splinter the clouds.
For even a moment,
...

The tree stands still.
It moves its hands in a strange greeting,
as the sunrays warmly kiss both my cheeks.
All spirits of Mother Earth are listening for my depart.
...

The bird is in the sky.
Its ebony black feathers contrast against the aquamarine background.
It's flying;
so free.
...

Each droplet falls through my fingers.
En masse they are so unique.
Unterminated freedom;
as air and water
...

One day I'll fly to the high heavens.
One day I'll let not a tear be shed from the eyes of a child.
One day I'll protest for global reform.
One day I'll make sure all of God's creatures live in blissful harmony.
...

My future is my diamond,
a precious gem that has no price.
It is my God foresken pathway,
Life and Death, two-sided dice.
...

Just beyond the shooting stars,
just beyond the rising waves,
hear the cooes of a lullaby,
by a mother day and night.
...

The squeaky shiny hinges,
like from oiled engines' roars,
or swooshing green propellers,
like lions' chases after wild boars.
...

What inspires the tiger that beats from within?
Making my eyes crouch and follow jumping prey.
Where is the desire to kill?
To tear at flesh make it not my own.
...

Why is it that my eyes repent at what they see?
Beauty is no factor here,
it gives not what is true.
...

A gentle orchid in the breeze,
a boulder to rooted ground.
Water always finds a way to make a rock so round.
A song will always find a way to wiggle into your ears,
...

I am strength visioned by all,
You cannot see me if you take drugs as a desire to fall.

To fall where nothing lives to grow,
...

Trees swaying,
brooks overflowing,
eating ripe apples,
and laughing away.
...

The rock, and the wind, and the mountain, and river.
The sunrays are masters, and the Sun is the giver.
The towering mountain, it gives quite a leer,
The savageful wind brings danger and fear.
...