Longing for places you've never seen,
waiting for feelings you've never felt,
yearning for days you've never lived in,
you sigh
and the ice starts to melt.
The ice breaks slowly on the Moyka river.
The world, it cracks in a cursed false mirror.
The time is ready to pull the trigger
It's cold,
you instinctively shiver.
You offer your hand to the river bank,
your low heels click on the granite quay.
Flagpoles stay empty or flags are blank.
It hurts
to be finally free.
The time flows slowly through the Moyka river.
It runs away like a pursued killer,
it's always ready to pull the trigger.
Meanwhile,
you pathetically shiver.
The flow
© Copyright: Алиса Оболашвили, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125012900197
Свидетельство о публикации №125012900197
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