Thursday, October 18, 2012


after the russians

What is left to me from that land
but ashes and snow?
Couple of cellphone numbers..
A heart that's ripped...
Questions answered with a viscous "no".
And my step-- uneven -- that often slipped?

What is left to me
but a white-faced street?
A black crow digging into
the night's remains?
You and I will live out this life,
yet we'll never meet.
'Cause we believe in losses
more than in gains.

And on opposite sides of this earth
one night
Both of our hearts will skip a beat
And running barefoot into the snow
in search of a sign,
we will feel its pure and naked heat.

We will see it then -- each other's face
For an instant fleeting -- like a flash-on screen
Now I sit and stare at the empty space,
at this dogged out absence
where You should have been.

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