Nothing

When nothing in your soul appears
You feel like moth in deep black box,
Alone, with desperate dark fears
Like hostage of your own faults.

An endless feeling of destruction,
Like setting where you used to dwell,
Fill up your mind till eruption
And all your thoughtless dreams as well

Adjacent room is fool of gladness,
But you can’t outrun the sill,
Like a delinquent filled with madness
You smudge the doorstep with ill.

An ineradicable odor
Of misery appears again,
Like cockroach you crawl to corner,
But try to hide yourself in vain.

At a safe distance and secure
But still atrociously spite
You’re sick who finds no cure,
You’re angry wolf prepared to bite.

You close your eyes and see inside
Insidious, contorted face,
Recrimination, droopy sight
And never-ending painful chase.

At rare intervals you stop
Worn-out from outdistance run,
Considerate, you wish to drop
Away your mourning like a gun.

Don’t make a gutter from the crest,
Don’t dig a grave to fare hearts,
Don’t be a witness of inquest
Of your own soul, it’s rather hard.


Sacrilege is not religion,
Reverend is not a warder,
Don’t be crow, be a pigeon,
Never spit to holy water.

6.09.2001