

Discernible Sound

by Andrey Kneller

Copyright 2014 by Andrey Kneller

Smashwords Edition

Copyright  Kneller, Boston, 2011

All rights reserved

Also by Andrey Kneller:

 Wondrous Moment: Selected Poetry of Alexander Pushkin

 White Flock: Poetry of Anna Akhmatova

 Final Meeting: Selected Poetry of Anna Akhmatova

 My Poems: Selected Poetry of Marina Tsvetaeva

 Backbone Flute: Selected Poetry of Vladimir Mayakovsky

 February: Selected Poetry of Boris Pasternak

 The Stranger: Selected Poetry of Alexander Blok

 Unfinished Flight: Selected Poetry of Vladimir Vysotsky

 O, Time...: Selected Poetry of Victoria Roshe

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# For Lena

# Table of Contents

Licked by the tongues...

Amadeus

Embrace me Silence...

Fire and Ice

November

July. White curtains...

Although the day is six feet under...

Silent Night

The sun left the vertex...

Reflect me...

The demon on my shoulder said it best...

August

Draw in the smoke...

New York

Sad Eyes

Macbeth

Fleeting Time

The thought of you vanishes...

All of us know where we're destined...

Venice

Reflections on Existence

Ode to a Window

To ***

Autumn

Cold February. Heated furnace...

Again, it's February...

Prayer

Venice II

Mercury climbs the thermometer...

Silence

Mid-December.

Venice III

Spring

Muse

Without a reason...

Rome

Break up

Here, on the outskirts...

To the Muse

First snow

Spring Morning

Venice IV

Sorrow

Bookmark

I refuse to love in cliches...

The sky was paler...

Her love

Venice V

Poet's Prayer

To Pilate

Advice for a Friend

I've never asked you...

Beginning of a Storm

Creation of Adam

Life is beautiful!

Separation

This Love

The Muse

Until the Sun Arises

Then Olga smiled and said...

Black and White

Catharsis through prayer...

Casting smiles aside...

Despair

Seagull

Fragments

Harlem

Ophelia

32B Panorama

Melancholy

Moonlit Night

Desperate

Moment

On the Brink

Anti-War Poetry

Shotgun

The Trip

Parting

Insomnia

The Fog

I continued to kiss you...

Careful thief

Autumn. The chill draws nearer...

I wasted my nights...

Ever Since Our Pathways Crossed...

Moving On

I want to paint the world yellow...

Melancholy

Learn to forgive the poets...

The city fell silent...

Rockport

It rained. We walked.

I walk among...

Parting II

The Pianist

Portrait of a Friend

I've lost you...

Stranger

My mornings are gray...

Break-up

Revolution

I've searched for my love...

For weeks, I haven't had moment of repose...

Love Song

I gave you my heart...

December Morning

Drunk

At a Local Dunkin Donuts

Silence

Journal Entry

O what a useless waste...

Good and Bad

Verses For Her

Summertime

Insomnia

VM

New England

The best place for writing poetry...

This campus is attractive in the spring...

Poets and prophets...

If only for the simple fact...

Happiness

Shatter

This town...

I'm from...

Katrina

The greatest lies...

Waltz

The contrast of my green eyes...

The future came...

If I run out of paper...

Ella

August 20, 2008

Let's set some time aside for love...

Nights here are quiet...

Prayer

Elegy

Especially from up high...

During the day...

Again, I smile to myself...

SOS

I must confess...

No one cares to bring charges against me...

You surrendered to me...

I'm a hunter...

Haunted house

There were four women in my life...

They grabbed her by the neck...

My sixth sense says...

Autumn

Lullaby

Go unplug your television...

I think this calls for a drink...

Rockport in spring...

Intimate

Coffee but no cups

Cadillac, Bar Harbor

This autumn's different from the rest...

Alexandra

We are still worlds apart...

Falling stars, on the horizon...

Dream

I love you even more for your curves...

Analyze the circumstance...

In all the beauty that was revealed to me...

I awaited a letter...

Dali was wrong...

Creation

You – on my chest...

Occupy Wall Street

To the Muse

Though often alone and happy...

On my skin...

Before you...

Before the world...

I love you most...

Emptiness in the crib...

Your hands are steady...

Much too much has been said...

Learn from toddlers...

Emptied sky...

Life's a game...

#

"I can't sleep. There is a woman stuck between my eyelids. I would tell her to get out if I could. But there is a woman stuck in my throat."

# Eduardo Galeano

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### Licked by the tongues...

Licked by the tongues of summer heat,

The day burns slowly into ashes.

As though a teardrop from the lashes,

A drop of ink falls on the sheet

And I, as lonesome as that dot,

A single mark upon the page,

Sit locked inside an opened cage,

In endless space can't find my spot.

I search but do not see a reason

Why full of images and thought

I cannot write a single word,

Why being free I feel imprisoned.

### Amadeus

Each night, I am deprived of sleep and rest  
Three grueling weeks and I have just begun.  
It started as a game, - now I'm obsessed,  
The cards were dealt, - His will is left undone!  
With every note, my Fate is drawing near  
The melody resounds in her steps  
Oh Melpomene, my heart is filled with fear.  
I'm tangled in my notes, - my wicked webs.  
I wove each line with Ariadne's thread  
My Requiem is due, I've lost my touch...  
"Do take the music that my soul has bled  
There's more in me, - don't hold it as a grudge!"

### Embrace me Silence...

Embrace me Silence! In your presence,

So many poets seek the Muse.

They search for words to share their views

And take no knowledge from your lessons...

But you and I, - we sense the essence,

We understand, - words have no use!

### Fire and Ice

Both, fire and ice, before destruction

Can be tamed!

Two opposites meet in attraction, -

As a result of this reaction,

The melting ice puts out the flame!

But if one day it does expire,

The world's demise will come from love,

Since neither ice nor blazing fire

Can mar enough

To damage more than heart's desire!

### November

A whole new day erupts, -

Horizon's lit with embers.

The sky is pierced with drops

Of tears shed by November.

The leaves twirl in their flight,

So weak and short of breath,

While reaching for new heights,

They glide into the depths

Of dimmed reflected skies,

Where heaven quickly smears

And echoes of their cries

Send ripples through the years.

The sad fate of the lost, -

To seek the Truth in mud

When by the window crossed

The Truth is hung to rot.

Just take a look outside, -

The skin hangs off its bones!

November, crucified,

In all three voices moans...

### July. White curtains...

July. White curtains. Melancholy.  
The stale air is hard to breathe.  
Alone I sit and stare at Holly,  
Who's doing homework, while I grieve.  
Two weeks remaining. Birds are chirping.  
It's four a.m. I'm counting sheep.  
Is it my conscience-- so disturbing?  
My eyes are red from lack of sleep.  
Spread fingers hold the heavy Norton.  
Her other hand is on her lips.  
While I am left to die from boredom.  
Outside, the pale sunrise creeps.  
The sun will rise before we know it  
This day will be consumed by time.  
But, until then, let's steal a moment  
From lifeless verse and boring rhyme.  
I strain my eyes from lack of sleep  
July. White curtains. Melancholy.  
Four twenty-five. I'm counting sheep  
Alone I sit and stare at Holly.

### Although the day is six feet under...

Although the day is six feet under,  
Your perfume in the air remains  
And horses drag the fallen reins,--  
Apollo's fallen into slumber.

Like ghosts at night, dark branches sway  
And cast long shadows onto walls.  
The creaking carriage slowly rolls...  
The horses' hooves sink into clay.

The wearied horses stray and wander.  
The night is chilling, cold and grim,  
And one by one, the windows dim,  
Apollo's fallen into slumber.

The heavy clouds loom with gray.  
They're undisturbed by northern winds  
And leaving only rounded prints  
The horses' hooves sink into clay.

Dark skies are gliding down the lanes.  
The moonlight lulls us, softly healing.  
Cold corpses lie without feeling  
And horses drag the fallen reins.

The darkness fills the empty halls.  
Our voices lower to a whisper.  
The air is turning colder, crisper.  
The creaking carriage slowly rolls...

With frenzy throwing up the curtains,  
September rages, filled with spite...  
My darling, don't turn off the light--  
We won't awake the sleeping servants.

### Silent Night

Choking minutes with her hands,

Slowly squeezing the aorta,

Nature, with her chilling glance,

Proves to us that she's immortal.

Naked trees with passion sway,

Sweeping stars, while none will fall.

Icy puddles mark my way, -

Dark like windows to one's soul.

Ashen doves rest on the cable,

They observe the pale sky.

Wind, - the hand that rocks the cradle,

Softly sings a lullaby.

There, I linger, sad and wearied,

Breathing in the silent night.

Shaking lips confirm my theory, -

Even dreams here freeze in flight.

### The sun left the vertex...

The sun left the vertex

And tree trunks fell slanted.

Thrown from the vortex,

Gold leaves were implanted

Alongside those bleak streets,

Where gentle and cautious,

Avoiding dark thickets,

In muddy galoshes,

We rambled on homeward

For what seemed like hours,

But, we took the long road

Because it was ours.

Your skin showed a faint blush.

The clear chilly evening

Was drawn with paintbrush,

Its colors were gleaming.

How softly you whispered,

"Don't take these nights lightly"

Believe me, my sister,

I think of them nightly.

### Reflect me...

"Reflect me as I am, — three-dimensional!

Do not flatten me with your exterior,

rather curve from all the conventional

and engulf first my spirit ethereal

and then patch it up with new scenery.

Swallow light and reflect its radiance,

capture everything in your vicinity,

and invert the lines of your radius

as to include all of the outwardly,--

everything that is out of your medium.

In some sense, I guess that I'm cowardly,

I'm afraid of the permanent tedium

of the life on this side of the border...

so I beg you reflect me, I'm sinking!"--

Thus I prayed to oblivious water,

as the puddles were drying and shrinking...

### The demon on my shoulder said it best...

"...we consider too much the good luck of the early bird, and not enough the bad luck of the early worm."  
-F. D. Roosevelt.

The demon on my shoulder said it best,--  
"The grass is greener when the grass is smoked,  
It doesn't matter on which path you've walked,  
All roads will lead to Rome, both east and west...

Remember that three lefts will make a right!  
That curiosity gave cats a life worth living.  
And don't read novels, -- content is deceiving,  
Judge by the cover and you'll be all right!

There aren't any winners when there's peace  
Engage in fights as often as you wish!  
Learn that the worms will catch the early fish,  
And that the second mouse gets the cheese!

For every penny saved, a second's lost...  
If time is money, -- do not sell it short!  
Don't sell your soul for pennies to the Lord--  
The Devil buys it at a higher cost."

### August

Doors swing open on loose hinges.

Poverty's a state of mind.

Cuddling like two gray pigeons,

Two lone shadows intertwined,

Searching in the eyes of August,

Down the emptied water-well,

While the wind, so dry and raucous,

Sweeps the body's every cell.

Hot and humid, lustful dreams,--

Women wearing see-though gowns.

The temptations will not cease.

In the chest, the clock resounds.

Hands of time strike faster, harder,

Almost echoing the heart.

Autumn,-- questions disregarded,

Autumn,-- foliage in the yard...

Memory, lost in the sawdust,

Wanders aimlessly, perplexed.

There is only August, August

There is nothing coming next...

### Draw in the smoke...

"...and gaze at the reflection in the mirror,

As streetlights gaze at drying puddles..."

J. Brodsky

Draw in the smoke and with the motion of a finger,

shake off the lazy fireflies, which linger

to burn to ash. Cold bathroom lights reveal your flaws,--

the bald spot in your hair, the crooked nose.

Breathe out the smoke, and nothing's to be seen,

except the rows of plastic bottles, -- blue and green,

creams and colognes that tower high above

the bathroom sink. They've never caught true love.

The smoky mirror hides your grim reflection

and now, none of your flaws remain...

Thus streetlights watch with warm affection

the puddles blurred by drops of rain.

### New York

New York,--a barren city, devoid of color.

The gusting winds holler

At pedestrians crossing the zebra.

Mercury's frozen at zero.

The passage of time cares not for infants,

But here, even nymphets

Lack vital signs and only cold statues

Appear to capture

The chill that stitches these side streets.

Each morning, the eye greets

The hung-over clouds, like drying clothes.

And each night, the moths

Anxiously soar to the burning candle,

And clocks strike the temple

With a pulse that can keep you awake

At your wake.

### Sad Eyes

Sad eyes reflect crooked mirrors and only.

The parrots mock you by being quiet,

And nothing can drive one to be this lonely

Only the silence when you can't deny it.

The heartbeat subsides to hear the clocks' crow, --

It's only eleven, but the ball is long over

And Cinderella is turned into a beast to show

That the night doesn't want to see you sober.

On nights like this, it no longer matters

Whether the legs can find the way to the bedroom.

The body hits concrete, seeking a mattress,

And helplessly slides six feet under in tantrum.

### Macbeth

The heart will always see the crime

Which is elusive to the eye;

For hearts can tell, -- truth lies in time.

And time will prove that truth does lie,

And words do bind us to our dreams,

Which then compose the fated plot.

And nothing's ever what it seems

And nothing is but what is not.

Disgrace will wear a pretty face,

Which I abhor with all my love.

And blood does have that wicked taste

Of which one sip won't be enough.

All sense is lost in reason's battle

In which uncertainty has won

And even triumph's overshadowed

By darkened fate of Scotland's throne.

As minutes weave a solid web

To catch the dreamers in their flight,

God, give me room to take a step

To step away and look aside!

### Fleeting Time

The fleeting time reflected in my eyes...

I broke the hourglass and as I gathered

the fallen grains, I came to realize,--

time isn't slipping from our hands, but rather,

building castles out of sand, along the sea,

where you and I can dwell eternally.

### The thought of you vanishes...

The thought of you vanishes

like an object in the rear view mirror,

as the woeful eye quickly varnishes

all that could bring me near you.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, you've become my idol,

and I stopped worshiping the man on the cross,--

if he really was Him, He would not stay idle,

understanding that I am at such a loss.

The pen crisscrosses the calendar with ardor,

but alas, time reaches farther than

any calendar and it's becoming harder

to look up ahead rather than

looking back over the shoulder, where

the highway runs like an endless serpent,

where the mirror reflects your stare,

in which I appear (closer than I am) determined.

### All of us know where we're destined...

All of us know where we're destined

And as soon as we pay for the toll,

We'll be traveling down the intestine

Of the giant that swallows us whole.

The metal monster exposes his veins,

On the subway map of New York.

Searching tentacles wait for the trains,

Where the 5 and the 6 make a fork.

The electrical worm swerves its body,

To the beat of the sleepless city,

To the echoing steps of somebody

Who is lost in the maze of graffiti.

Here, the shrills of the breaks, never sudden,

Are awaited with calm expectation

And the light at the end of the tunnel

Is a 6 train approaching the station.

### Venice

Here, in every silence you hear a space bar, --

Venice -- the only setbacks of this place are

The knots in your veins which slow the blood,

And every street here, leads to "dot dot dot,"

Which echoes like Morse Code in your chest.

Who was the architect that designed this nest,

Where fat pigeons pluck at stranger's hands

Where the tourists scurry like unsettled ants?

Venice -- darkness falls, but the day won't cease

As the footsteps strike on the keyboard keys

And the blaring sirens of violins pierce

With sharp notes the lobes of the deafened ears.

Golden gondolas are like autumn leaves,

While knee-deep in water, the twilight sieves

Those lost souls, who may, slip away and drift

Pass the city's gates, to an obscure rift

Of the outside world, where the current's force

Overwhelms the souls' and directs the course.

All grows silent there, lights fade into dark.

And nostalgia brands just a question mark

On the heavy hearts, overfilled with grief \--

They turn back too late -- Venice sinks beneath....

### Reflections on Existence

January fifteenth. I'm home-sick for Autumn.  
I sit by the desk and out of boredom,  
reflect on existence, on being immortal,  
on God that I'm lacking, and on God  
that is present. The latter -- my own creation,  
I've long disproved the former, became impatient

and left him, and to ease separation,

created a God from my own flesh and blood.

"Religion is the opium of the people!"  
Opium eases the lives of the feeble.

The sun hit my eyes when I stared at the steeple, -  
Thus I never saw God, never learned how to pray.

This isn't to say that I have a lot to offer,  
but I've welcomed the Holy Spirit often.  
Every day, I've left all the windows opened,  
no one came and now, some say

I'm deprived. I've heard many sermons,  
many hymns and gospels. They make one certain  
that Nietzsche's right, that life's a burden,--  
if there ever was God, he had abandoned  
his great creation to spin in orbit.

He hid his trail and took the forfeit.  
Such tales though make the morning morbid.

I don't have faith because I stand on

my own two feet and that is quenching,  
I despise afterlife and the idea of aging,  
and what's more I'm stubborn and hate changing  
my mind whether I'm wrong or right.  
People are sheep and I refuse to follow.  
To me, life after death appears too hollow

and not because "it's too much to swallow,"  
but because there's nothing to bite.

I find my calling in mere existence!  
The alarm clock resounds to start up my pistons  
and I'm ready to go, and travel the distance,

and keep myself occupied all through the evening.

Whether I've lived as a saint or a sinner

is easy enough, - I just look in the mirror.

I find pleasure in life! I like chicken for dinner

And that is enough for me to keep breathing.

Tomorrow, I know I'll awake in my bed,

with my love by my side, and I will extend

my left arm to silence the clock on the stand.

I'll eat breakfast and the day will follow exactly

the same old routine as the day before it

and the day will reflect the night that bore it.

Future reflects the past and therefore, it

appears immortality's fairly likely.

So, what's the purpose, if life's eternal? \--

to transform the external into internal

(and of course vice-versa), to keep a journal,

to search for beauty, to search for purpose,--

to be!—it's all so simple. The rest will fall

into place, as it must in nature. Each soul

will find its object of worship. And after all,

the dust will settle and truth will surface

and it's all so simple...

### Ode to a Window

Before this perfect square alone I stand

and I reflect upon its very meaning.

It's not a box.... an outlet!-- I demand

to be let out. Outside, the stars are gleaming.

The darkness makes it seem as if they blend

together with the window, thus deceiving

a child into thinking that his hand

could touch a shining star and this believing,

his spirit leaves a handprint on the glass.

The window is our link to the outside.

It floods us with the greenery of grass

and makes us snug as it allows the light

that penetrates the leaves of trees to pass

into our lives as well, and we delight

to share its heat. A normal window has

four corners and four sides (each side

is tangent to two corners), which then form

four angles that are measured in degrees.

These measures are important when a storm,

with raging winds, picks up the small debris,--

they make the windows strong and keep you warm,

and windows block the branches of the trees

that bend with raging winds out of the norm.

Thus windows are the messengers of peace.

At night, they are like mirrors, they reflect

our every move and thus it often seems

when we are doubled by this strange effect

that we are living in the land of dreams,

where even parallels will somehow intersect,

where star-crossed lovers find the hidden seams.

The eye-- the star, two points now connect

and hands, again reach up for silver beams.

### To ***

We broke the night reflecting on existence.

My pillow absorbed your scent, and I grew

to hate the concepts of "space" and "distance,"

for both are defined by the absence of you.

We're like two lines or rather, two points,

parted by chance and weighing our chances,

but no matter how much we flip the coins,

the probability, dear, remains against us.

Stubborn fingers refuse to dial your number,

protecting the ear, which now, dreads silence.

I turn in my bed, -- wearied, half in slumber, --

as conscience confronts the drooping eyelids.

But, even in dreams, you are hardly nearer.

And all that is left is to sit and observe

the fleeting time in the rear view mirror

and gasp when the road makes a sudden curve.

### Autumn

The lonely widow, Autumn danced,  
Recalling how things were,  
While eager winds with eager hands  
Tore off the clothes she wore.

I shivered when I heard her moan,  
I asked someone "What happened?"  
And in reply, the clouds groaned  
And puddles rippled, saddened.

### Cold February. Heated furnace...

Cold February. Heated furnace.  
And you, my dear, refuse to sleep.  
And lights across the window sweep,  
And droplets freeze upon its surface.

My eyes meet yours. We dim the lights.  
And suddenly, as one, we're breathing  
My hands, around you, interweaving,  
I recollect the gone-by nights.

My heart is burning, -- raging wild!  
"My dear, I'm ready to confess..."  
You place your hand upon my chest,  
And softly whisper, "save it, child..."

### Again, it's February...

Again it's February, and again the snow  
Absorbs all colors of the sleeping planet.  
And only footprints bare a patch of granite,--  
The rest is white and there's nowhere to go.

The hour and the minute hand combine  
And fall in unison upon the number twelve.  
I sit behind the desk, all by myself,--  
The tired hands cannot complete a line.

The pallid moon bewitches and enchants...  
I cannot focus on my poetry. Instead,  
I think of you. And next room, in my bed,  
You are asleep, and life, again, makes sense.

### Prayer

Abba, Father,  
let me give back  
what You gave me!  
pass me the cup,  
I'm thirsty!  
Don't save me!  
Rather  
let them curse me,  
throw me into the dirt,  
spit in my face,  
disgrace me.  
Let them deny me!  
I need it!  
I rip open my shirt,  
spread my arms crosswise,--  
crucify me!  
I can't perish unheeded,--  
I'm a poet!  
They'll know it  
once I arise....

### Venice II

It's been raining all day. The streets are flooded.

To survive in this city, I'll have to grow fins,

becoming cold-blooded.

Then, I shall explore all the ins

and outs,

of Venice, buried below the reflected clouds.

As for now, I sit in a coffee shop, whose ceiling

is designed to resemble the sky.

The moon, like a fishing hook, looks appealing.

It catches the eye....

It catches me by the eye.

### Mercury climbs the thermometer...

Mercury climbs the thermometer.

With all of the warmth that I've put into verses,

I came out profitless.

Goodness,

let me fall out of love with her,

(I don't deserve this!)

or else,

I will burn out from happiness.

Goodness,

let her be trite and stale!

Let her look down on me,

scornfully!

Hide her smile under the sky's dark veil,--

maybe then I will love her

normally!

maybe then, I'll be able to gaze at her

without turning my eyes

away from the sharp razorblade

of the horizon

afraid of seeing!

(Just look at me!)

I feel like an elephant

trapped in a skeleton

of a human being!

### Silence

I turn on the light and search for the answer.

If the muse won't hear me, then perhaps the pencil

Will render some vision, perhaps an omen,

Will clear up the haze, which at the moment,

Smothers my lungs from the inside out.

It's so easy to hide within, without

You at my side. I need you near me.

I'd scream, but I doubt that you would hear me,

Since the sound that travels the given distance

Is certain to blend into nonexistence.

Therefore I'm biting my tongue, crestfallen,

And searching for verse to put my soul in,

Since the body's too small to contain this passion

And either way, it is certain to return to ashes

Faster than verse, which survives long after

And propels the passion. Who said that laughter

Is the best cure for grief and sadness?

It perishes quicker and drives to madness

Faster than pain. Therefore, I don't hide it.

In short, this hunger can't be subsided.

It grows and multiplies in your absence,

It eats up words and feeds on nonsense.

The stubborn pencil evokes your presence,

The rest is silence, and you're its essence.

### Mid-December.

Mid-December. Insomnia. Dreams don't come easy.

The clock's steady meter resounds, -- displeasing.

Lean on the window and listen to the winter's

Heart-moving symphony.

Warm breath. Shivering lips mark the window,--

A sudden epiphany.

Naked branches sway to the rhythm, -- freezing!

Thus starts a poem. Thus the Muses control us, teasing

With the wind's wailing. Thus cold fingers

Become anxious to write.

Thus, seducing the soul, the hour-hand lingers

To move any further tonight.

### Venice III

The city of masks whose grayness

reflects indifference,--

Venice, you're bound to suffer

the fate of Atlantis.

Thus, finding a small cozy place

in one of your attics,

a poet stands ready to capture

the end of existence.

Reflecting off the dark water

the stars shine brightly.

Dreams are redoubled here,--

the nights are wonderful.

The poet inhales the air and writes,

"Death seems doubtful,"

exhales, pauses, and continues on,

"...afterlife likely."

### Spring

Spring,

at random,

paves everything

platinum.

It twists and

bends

the streets

in a knot

of a pretzel,

and heats

the blood.

The hand

drops the pencil.

It's hot

even at nights,

when the lights

of the street-lamps

collapse

on people's shoulders

like needles

and bodies smolder.

As the mercury reaches

the triple digits,

the sweat,

in beads and droplets,

covers the forehead

and dampens

the virgin bed

sheets.

### Muse

As she

sprinkles

her fingertips

and tickles me,

pricking

my ribs,

ink

begins

dripping...

and crippled,

I shrivel

into a wrinkled,

crumpled

sheet...

### Without a reason...

Without a reason, seasons come to pass.

We sit alone in front of dusty windows,

And still we gaze and still we ask the glass,

"Hold back for us the evanescent winters

Without a reason do not let them pass..."

We listen to the clocks' familiar chime.

We watch our cigarettes diminish into ashes .

We drown our sorrows in the pleasant wine.

Perhaps, with time, we will regain our passion.

We listen to the clocks' familiar chime...

Without a reason, seasons come to pass.

We sit alone in front of hazy mirrors,

And still we gaze and still we ask the glass,

"Allow our friends forever to be near us

Without a reason do not let them pass..."

### Rome

Here, in Rome, all the ends are lost -

all the roads here crisscross and merge.

Every path here leads to a cross -

on each corner, there stands a church.

Here, in Rome, every rock is hallowed -

every square, every street, every stone,

and no matter whose footsteps you follow,

every face that you meet is your own.

Here, in Rome, you are bound to grasp

more than photo frames could contain,

as you run your hands through the grass,

as you stroll outside in the rain.

### Break up

Lonesome lips lapped stale air.  
Feverish and delirious,  
I dipped my quill into a cup of coffee.  
Gray hands  
of smoke  
fondled the strands of my hair.  
The room crumbled,  
shrinking  
and shriveling into a coffin.  
I ripped open the envelopes of the window-frames.  
You've left me  
and this time,  
I'm sure, you will not return.  
In the sizzling furnace verses rose into flames  
and the heart, dejected, continued to burn.  
Angry winds  
scattered ashes across the room.  
With everything spinning out of proportion,  
I fell to the floor  
and the forlorn moon  
pulled my tears like the tides of a storming ocean...

### Here, on the outskirts...

Here, on the outskirts of the major city,

the trees are slightly bending to the west,

and waking up, one finds the nitty-gritty, \--

a girlfriend's forehead resting on his chest.

Here, time goes by unheeded. Nightingales

sing all day long and street-lamps never fade.

And when the sun arises, it unveils

two star-crossed lovers kissing by the gate.

Here, there is no commotion, all is still,

and mild autumn winds, across the courtyards,

chase golden leaves and raindrops quickly fill

the puddles with the juice from Eden's orchards.

Here, we can hold each other by the hand

and ramble by the pond with pink flamingoes.

Here, we can live in castles made of sand

and whisper from the bottom of the inkwells...

### To the Muse

Listen, Muse,--

No more words! Enough!

Twisting my tongue like that! What's the use?!

Don't you see -- my whole body is charged with love,

Give me a match to light up the fuse.

Loosen the reins.

Let time -- the black stallion

Gallop unbound, ardent, zealous, hot-tempered.

Around its neck, tie the moon's medallion

To illumine the nights of the somber December.

Place your head on my shoulder

As the razor of sunrise

Sweeps the foam of the clouds from the cheek of the sky.

And the morning, inspecting the courtyards of Brandeis,

Finds everyone sleeping,

Except you

And I.

Like madmen, we'll dance on the brink of insanity,

Testing the puddles for the depths of the skies.

On the vines of the roads, we shall find immortality

And with laughter, we'll write where the ink never dries.

### First snow

First snow.  
The earth put on her gown,--  
at once, both fleeting and eternal.  
I watched how fast the naked ground  
was changed into somebody's journal.

My footprints bared a patch of granite.  
I grieved beneath the burdened pines  
that no one else across the planet  
appeared to read between the lines.

### Spring Morning

Spring sprung so suddenly that no one  
was ready for a change like this.  
Upon the bosom of a snow bank,  
the sun descended with a kiss

and in a fraction of a second,  
the morning changed the world's appearance  
as melting icicles deflected  
warm rays of light like diamond earrings.

### Venice IV

At night, Venice slumps partly into the water, partly

into the sky that's reflected under her.

While a native gracefully plays Vivaldi  
on the violin-nosed gondola.

### Sorrow

February's attire is full of white.  
On the skyline, the silhouette of Orion, --  
just another shoulder to cry on.  
Thus, I'm enduring cold nights.  
It's two months since you've left me. Since  
the weather turned cold. Since the sunrise  
last caressed the horizon  
with warmth. At least, so it seems.  
Weaving the spider-webs of the constellations,  
the muse of astronomy catches my gaze.  
Drifting off into space,  
I am losing my patience.  
People say that the cosmos is vast,--  
but there's nowhere to hide my sorrow  
when the moon, like a bookmark, sticks out of  
the time that's long passed...

### Bookmark

Live your life and do not look hard  
for existence to make sense.  
Life – itself – is but a bookmark  
in the narratives of chance.

### I refuse to love in cliches...

I refuse to love in clichés!  
I've learned my manners!  
I will fall to my knees to caress you with verses...  
I will bind your ankles with fetters of letters,  
And wait for your lips to yell out for mercy.

Until the mercury breaks through the thermometer,  
I will turn you inside out  
like an original metaphor,  
Press your stress points in iambic pentameter,  
Marking each syllable like an energized editor.

Virgin bed sheets will wrinkle like failed poems,  
Candle wax will drip slowly onto the mantelpiece,  
And if I write nothing else after this moment,  
Then, I hope you remember me, dear,  
by this masterpiece.

### The sky was paler...

The sky was paler  
than the cheek of a melancholy romantic.  
The streaks of the melting snow  
bulged like veins on the lonely rooftops.  
There was something about the view that was quite enchanting.  
I walked,  
reciting "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,"  
smoking Marlboro Lights  
and admiring the spiraling smoke.  
The morning was wonderful and I couldn't put my finger on it,  
but it seemed out of the ordinary,  
as if I awoke  
to find out existence had meaning,  
and I stumbled upon it.  
No, it had nothing to do with either of us.  
This wasn't the point.  
It was more about scattered rhymes and iambic pentameter.  
As a whole,  
this city resembled a well-written poem  
and I picked up its rhythm on the cobble-stone avenue.  
The whole street seemed to rock  
like a ship in a stormy bay.  
North End reached out for me with its stretching tentacles,  
and strangers smiled at me  
from the windows of every café,  
as if looking at some strange and remarkable spectacle,  
they couldn't decide if I  
was a poet, a lover or simply mad,  
My eyes glistened with tears,  
illumined by the sunrise fire.  
I was screaming poetry at the top of my lungs,  
with all I had,  
as if no one was listening  
so my voice went an octave higher.

### Her love

I swept the asphalt with my feet  
I walked below the dark gray skies  
I turned and faced the wind to plead,  
"What do I need, what do I need?"  
And it replied, "Her eyes, her eyes..."

I heard the wind and froze in place  
The world around me seemed so bleak  
I faced the sun and asked, half-dazed,  
"What do I seek? What do I seek?"  
And it replied, "Her face, her face..."

It seemed my sorrow had no ends  
Behind me, gold foliage dragged  
I asked the cloud, in a trance,  
"What do I lack? What do I lack?"  
And it replied, "Her hands, her hands..."

The sky was dark and winds were rough  
As lightening struck and thunder groaned  
I asked the rain from high above  
"What do I want? What do I want?"  
And it replied, "Her love, her love..."

### Venice V

The sun was slowly sinking under the

Horizon's line and there, beneath

The frozen sky, a lonely gondola

Still trembled like an autumn leaf.

A foreigner, and thus a loner,

At night, in Venice, on my own,

I wanted her -- my Desdemona --

To be with me and me alone.

### Poet's Prayer

I've given you my flesh and blood

And still my name remains unmentioned!

For this, you've crucified your God

And I demand the same attention!

### To Pilate

The sky grows dark and silent.

I'm weak but I won't show it.

At last, my case is closed,

But tell me, Pontius Pilate,

How many arms have crossed

The letter "T" in "poet"?

### Advice for a Friend

When you're miserable

And overcome by tedium,--

Admire yourself in the mirror!

Like a mermaid,

You emerge from its medium

Like a miracle!

When you're meandering

In and out of the murky memory

Where the mercury's frozen at zero,

Do no listen to the same old melody,--

Admire yourself in the mirror!

Even when sorrow is imminent,

Conceal it in your demeanor.

As long as you know you're innocent,

Admire yourself in the mirror!

When you're feeling morbid

And insignificant,

And your fire burns into an ember,

Let the mirror light up, magnificent,

And illumine the world with your splendor!

### I've never asked you...

I've never asked you to pose before me,

But you sat in the chair, -- eyes closed,

And your body just froze before me

Like a statue of bronze.

I wasn't daring to play the sculptor,

But to lose this moment, -- a sin!

When I heard you call to me, "hold me!"

I did not know where to begin.

While I stood, bewitched and bewildered,

Overburdened, unable to speak,

Your reflection was cast on the window,

And a raindrop appeared on your cheek.

### Beginning of a Storm

The troubled sky changed its complexion,  
Appearing somber, sad and bruised,  
While on the busy intersections,  
Piano keys endured our shoes

And wailing notes were slowly oozing  
From sheets of clouds torn to shreds,  
But only street-lamps heard this music  
And humbly bowed their metal heads.

### Creation of Adam

A gentle draft and You appeared, Almighty!

Our fingers barely touched. You said, "Arise!"

I gazed at you with then still frozen eyes,

drew in a breath (a breath!) and trembled slightly.

A man without a past is but a ghost.

Thus I awoke to life in mild delusion.

Thus wakes a dreamer, smiling in confusion,

attempting to recall the dream he lost.

### Life is beautiful!

Take a walk. On the corner, the pigeons --

How they blend with the morning grayness!

Look! There's beauty in broken hinges,

In the light-bulbs that hang on the staircase.

Life is beautiful! – Come across this,

And you rush to the bathroom, gasping,

Just to stick your head under the faucet.

There are cracks in the evening asphalt,

There are colors forgotten by artists

That have ceased to appear on the palettes,

Muddy sidewalks collapse on your eyelids \--

Black and brown, so perfectly balanced!

Learn to worship graffiti, adore the homeless,

Feed stray dogs from the palm of your hand.

Once your learn to accept it with openness,

Life will meet you around the bend.

Out of nowhere, when you're least expecting it,

It will dawn on you in a simple metaphor.

When you're late and the traffic is hectic,

Search for grace, style, beauty, etcetera...

### Separation

Life will one day return to normal.

There's nothing that time can't tame,

and her name,

on the page of the daily journal,

will dissolve on the fiery tongue of the flame.

Somehow, I'll have to adjust and forget her.

Love is neither eternal nor constant.

We've parted.

I'm sure it's all for the better.

Her features will fade with the russet sunset.

Why do I lie to myself? It's never that easy.

My head is tolling like a church bell tower.

Bumping into the trees,

I'm coughing and wheezing,

and so far it's been only a half an hour.

The onlookers watch, not daring to help me...

Get out of my way, I'm a raging elephant!

Don't you hear how my soul is yelping,

gripping the bars

of the trembling skeleton?

Don't you see how I'm stumbling,

sad and wearied,

with the weight of affection around my ankle?

Clearly, it's love... clearly

it's love that has me this mangled.

I no longer believe in the power of calendars,

time is no medicine for separation,

and hours scatter around like scavengers

eating, eating away my patience.

I must have a fever, I'm shaking and quivering,

Talking to no one, conversing out loud.

Isn't that her

crawling across the ceiling?

hanging up overhead like a dismal cloud?

I'm hallucinating, I cannot escape her...

Leave me alone, don't you see I'm grieving?

Her smile appears on the face of my neighbor.

She mocks me and whispers to me,

"Good evening."

Wherever I turn, she appears to follow.

On every face, I seem to notice her grimace.

Everywhere that I look, I can see her shadow.

Look, up there!

up in the sky, she shimmers...

***

Look at the sunrays, people!

Those are her stretching

fingers,

I am almost ready to leap now

toward her from the roof of my building.

Look how the sun is crashing

on the blade of the glowing horizon!

People, I'm stoned by this passion,

I am lost in light of her eyes now!

On the fork of a thousand roads,

drunk with the smell of the pines,

I wander

and hang my sorrowful notes

on the nerves of the telephone lines.

Hello?

Answer me!

Anybody?

What can extinguish my love's scorching flame?

Every night, waiting for her, I cram my body

into the window frame.

You, who've had a lot to cope with,

whose lives have long turned sour and dire,

know that

the doors of my ribcage are always open,

come and sit by the fire!

Do you hear the thunder of my whisper?

That is merely love begging for help.

People,

I need her, I miss her!

In her absence, I'm losing myself...

These walls box me in.

Feeling lonely,

on the mattress, I curl like a snake,

and depression collapses upon me

with more force than the body can take.

Burdened by the weight of the silence,

I recall from the past,

gasping,

and abruptly, two overcast eyelids

shut at once with a bang of a casket.

But even in dreams, her vision,

appears in the night and remains...

and I catch

her brief apparition,

with the butterfly net of my veins.

***

Though this bliss may appear unending,

both, the night and the dream must cease.

She is grinning at me,

enchanting,

as she vanishes into the mist...

The gray beard of the mist fills the alley,

raindrops beat on the drum

of my window.

Autumn mimics my sweet melancholy

and transforms itself into winter.

Homeless winds sing from under the bridges,

as the morning embraces the land.

There, I ramble,

feeding the pigeons

out of the palm of my hand...

Once more, I am one with the landscape.

Like the valley, I'm covered with frost.

Like the shivering branches, my hands shake.

Like the trees,

I'm standing exposed.

Have you noticed your son, Mother Nature?

In you sight, I still wander perplexed.

Separated from love,

I am raging,

Is it true that the spring will come next?

Dejected,

I've looked high and low,

tread the Milky Way searching for answers,

lost my way in the winding snow,

now I stray here,

homeless and senseless.

Here, I drift with the winds as I cast

my eyes to the skies,

starless and bottomless,

I can change! Let me sweep the debris of the past

under the carpets of puddles.

Goodness, I pray you,

I have to see her!

I cannot go on any further without her!

I've poured my soul into the cold receiver,--

Listen to me!

I cannot love any louder!

Listen... listen, up there! Do you hear me?!

You, angels, hovering up above me,

do not lie to me,

tell me sincerely,

could she possibly learn to love me?

### This Love

I

Quiet down my heart,

I'm confounded.

Over the mountains,

your trumpets

resound

too ardently.

The echo

of your verse

submerses me.

I beg of you,

"Mercy!"

My eardrums are bursting

nervously.

enough!

enough!

enough of this!

Enough of this love!

II

This love is outrageous,

I rage.

Without patience,

I rip open (my cage)

my ribcage,

and whistling,

tear my heart to pieces.

It's ripe!

on each piece,

her initials are inscribed.

And senseless,

my eyes wander

endlessly

from N to T.

Submerged in thought,

destiny

pensively,

traces the road

from New York to Toronto

with a pencil.

III

Answer me,

"Is it in you?"

If your answer is "no,"

whisper

tenderly,

rip through my sinew

softly

and go.

If your answer is "yes,"

caress me

but once

with its stress

and leave me breathless...

...yes!

...do

...leave me deathless.

Answer me,

"Is this love in you?"

IV

I grow tense,

"Say it."

Silence

ascends

skyward

with a prayer.

Bottomless

puddles

(those are your eyes)

reflect boundless

skies.

This love is beguiling,

smiling,

it hides

behind

the corner

of life's corridor

and behind that corner,

there's a coroner.

V

I feel like a foreigner,

I don't belong here.

What is this that I crawl on?

All this fluff,

a cloud?

"That is my shroud."

Almighty,

in this love,

I was buried alive.

There's been a mistake,

I was taken

to paradise,

because she paralyzed

me with her eyes.

It's too crowded here

and oddly,

I miss

my body.

"All right then...

awake!"

VI

I fall through the air

carelessly,

and awake

somewhere

on a bus

near Albany,

someone is calling me...

shaking me

impatiently.

"Sir,

I must

check your ticket."

Enough!

just take it.

"Reason for your vacation?"

love...

"Destination?"

near her...

VII

Listen,

mirror,

can you hear me?

Hear my heartbeat?

I need her...

I need her

near me.

Reflect me

with affection

tenderly,

perfect

my identity,

whisper in my ear

and beguile me!

Smile

from above me

mildly.

Tell me

that she'll love me,

lie to me!

VIII

The heart is drained

and the ink

hasn't dried yet.

Pull the shades lower.

It's private,

don't look over

my shoulder.

Too late to hide it,

it's spilling,

it's brimming over

the sink.

In wild convulsions,

it surges.

It floods the pages,

the streets, the churches,

the squares,

the courtyards

and Eden's orchards.

I can't contain it,

this love is gorgeous!

IX

Alighting

my soul

from above

with a thousand torches,

this love

scorches me!

It burns inside me

and tortures me!

The world

is too small

to hide me.

Now that you've nurtured me,

open your eyes!

On the crossroads,

I'm hanging exposed,

arms – crosswise

across the skies.

Only notice me

and I'll arise...

### The Muse

The purple haze burns into grayness.

The poet's pleading to the muse,

"Let's not use our lips for prayers,

For they have another use."

But the playful muse still lingers,

Casting smiles from afar,

Holds his chords with nimble fingers

On the neck of her guitar...

### Until the Sun Arises

I'm tired of people

wearing their tears

on their sleeves

like cufflinks,

banging their heads like cymbals,

beating out lifeless

syllables

of indifference.

You're different.

I caught a glimpse of you --

simple

and laid back.

I found you -- a needle

in the haystack

of imbeciles.

Open your eyes now!

Allow me harbor you

in my arms

until the sun arises.

### Then Olga smiled and said...

Then Olga smiled and said:

"Poetry's easy to write, just find a vein and cut it..."

In the cold bathroom light,

like a martyr,

I bled

and laughed out loud, cold-blooded.

People walked by, grinning and mocking:

"Look at the freak!

lifting his pen like a razor!"

while my eyes reflected

black ink,

seeing something amazing!

Listen,

you English majors,

buried in your books like in funeral caskets,

with a line of my verse, I can open your cages,

just ask me!

With a swoop of my pen, I can set your souls free,

I can fill them with wisdom and honor...

there's more life, there's more hope, there's more truth in me

than you'll find in your best marijuana.

You, devout followers of corrupted religions,

reading your bibles, perplexed and puzzled,

open your ears as I recite my visions,

I'm

the Thirteenth Apostle.

And you! astronomers,

writing you last dissertations,

why don't you gaze instead into the depths of my eyes?!

there you'll find more constellations

than you see in your clouded skies....

All of you,

Listen to me!

I'm your poet!

turn away from the turmoil of daily strife!

With rhyme and reason,

In a single moment,

I can explain to you the meaning of life!

Don't you see how I'm stumbling,

coughing and wheezing,

practically fainting,

drained

and depleted?

Olga, -- I know that writing poetry's easy!

but what is a poet without a reader?

### Black and White

We examine our past recollections, --

Could it be that we're losing our sight?

Recollections are like intersections,

Where the pavement is black and white.

There's no use in bending the photos.

The old lamp will not shed any light.

There's no color from corner to corner,

It is all black and white.

Birches twist with a sense of hysteria,

Swaying madly from left to right.

Dirt and snow, and a lone Cocker Spaniel;

It is all black and white.

Chalk on asphalt or ink on paper –

And no matter what verses we write,

It's a masterpiece now, -- but later,

It is all black and white...

### Catharsis through prayer...

Catharsis through prayer. You laugh at my misery.  
Tears are trickling like a broken rosary...  
Give me a reason before you imprison me.  
Give me a cross before you expose me.

I drift like a ghost through the fog of September,  
Leaving no footprints, -- no one will find me.  
Goodness, forgive me before I surrender.  
Give me my freedom before you confine me.

My robe weaves a noose, I'm losing my sanity.  
The thorns of the crown cut my flesh to the bone.  
Before you abandon me blossom inside of me...  
And stay with me, Father, when I'm there all alone.

### Casting smiles aside...

Casting smiles aside,  
Thinking life is a bluff,  
She just laughs when it hurts,  
When it pains her to love.

She's as light as the breeze,  
Lifting souls when she flirts  
And it pains her to love  
And she laughs when it hurts.

### Despair

You grope for the switch to turn the lights off.

Lighting a match, you pull the shades lower.

It's nearly impossible to light up a clove,

A constant draft reaches you from the corner.

As you ash your cigarette into a plastic cup,

You reflect on the past, doleful and moody,

And all that's left from the day is a ticket stub

From the theater you left half-way into the movie.

### Seagull

Not that I have a lot to speak of,

But my tongue, God, is rather worn out,

So I cry by myself like a seagull,

Drink the sunlight that falls through the key-hole,

And continue to mumble out loud

(Not that I have a lot to speak of).

I'm alone here. I'm despised by people.

I don't mind. I don't fit in their crowd.

So I cry by myself like a seagull.

Give me wings and a rooftop to leap off

And I'll soar up to heaven unbound!

Not that I have a lot to speak of,

But the prayers continue to seep through

Opened lips when there's no one around,

So I cry by myself like a seagull.

Do You see the bell on the steeple?

That's my soul! It is turned inside out,

Since I don't have a lot to speak of,

Listen, God, for the cry of a seagull!

### Fragments

I despise

The stereotypes of my generation,

Mannequins with artificial, glued-on smiles,

Getting high on Zoloft, writing equations

On the black holes of chalk-boards, meanwhile,

Life passes by like an ex in see-through

Marijuana smoke through their blood-shod eyes,

Through their pitch-dark rooms where the sun has ceased to

Arise.

I despise clocks and watches, but adore photos.

I adore memory for it's filled with potholes,

Where the time freezes and expands like water,

I adore puddles.

I adore reflections, but despise shadows,

On the pale white walls that attract them like magnets.

I despise emptiness for it makes things shallow,

I adore fragments.

### Harlem

The storm is upon us.

The tower of Babel is plummeting down.

Each crack in the sidewalk hears thunder through silence.

Insomnia's eyelids are opened like coffins.

I'm sipping my coffee.

The winds off the rooftops resound like organs.

This orchestra's rage sweeps the notes off the page.

I'm scared and I'm silent.

I'm biting my nails --

My body turns pale up on the cross.

My blood slowly fills the potholes of Harlem:

I'm hungry, forgotten, dejected and lost...

### Ophelia

You filled my heart! I loved you ardently.  
I gave you all, you disregarded me...  
How are you feeling now?  
I'm your Ophelia.

"Get to a nunnery!"  
Was that your order?  
There was no room for me  
I chose the water.

And to the brook, my love,  
I rushed in slippers.  
How fast the moon above  
Dissolved in ripples!

Your words encouraged me. I did it urgently  
And I was purified. I'm re-emerging now.  
Am I appealing now?  
I'm your Ophelia.

### 32B Panorama

The Christmas Spirit renders everything pretty.  
The nearing headlights turn I - 95  
Into a golden strand from the head of the city,  
As the busy-bee cars swarm away from the hive.

Christmas tree decorations are a thing of the past.  
Let the G. W. B. illumine the ceiling  
And position the star on top of the mast  
Of the tall, evergreen Empire State Building!

### Melancholy

It's been snowing three days but the snow won't stick.

The warmth indoors fogs the kitchen window

And your patience grows shorter than the candle's wick,

Shorter than daylight in the months of winter.

You can look at family albums, do the dishes, weave,

Or meditate by yourself in front of the television,

But you still feel the draft, which makes your teeth

Drown out the rattle of doors and dishes.

You can drink hot chocolate beneath a blanket, or

Stare into the fireplace till you're calm and nerveless,

Still the silhouette that your body casts on the floor

Trembles more than the amber flames in the furnace.

You can leaf through calendars to your soul's content,

But, alas, even time can't ease you of this melancholy  
Since the anguish you feel reaches deeper than

The wind's sharpest chill, deeper than winter's folly.

### Moonlit Night

The game is ending.  
It's going to be over  
soon.  
And now, He has a chance to run the table.  
Behind the cue-ball of the moon,  
Almighty's aiming for the eight-ball.

### Desperate

This love is desperate when you embrace me,

And it is desperate when you embrace me not,

And loving you like this, I fear I'm going crazy,

Thus feels an atheist who fears that there's no God.

### Moment

"Seriousness, young man, is an accident of time. It consists, I don't mind telling you in confidence, in putting too high a value on time... In eternity, however, there is no time, you see. Eternity is a mere moment, just long enough for a joke."

\-- Hermann Hesse,

"The Steppenwolf"

I dreamt of Goethe. The poet

Said to me before I awoke,

"Eternity is but a mere moment,

Just long enough for a joke."

Ages passed, the Greeks and the Romans,

Are all but a painter's stroke.

Eternity is but a mere moment,

Just long enough for a joke.

I pondered, sipping my coffee

And inhaling cigarette smoke,

"Eternity is but a mere moment,

Just long enough for a joke."

I met you, ambling homeward,

And whispered to you as we walked,

"Our love is merely a moment,

Just long enough for a joke."

Startled, you responded with laughter,

And surprised by the mirth I provoked,

I repeated once more, "Hereafter's

Just long enough for a joke."

Smile, you're caught in the moment,

Don't fall prey to the endless chase,

Time will pass, but you are immobile,

Frozen still in my gaze.

Time will pass, but we are immortal.

Death, itself, is a fool in a cloak.

Stay with me for merely a moment,

Just long enough for a joke.

### On the Brink

The rooster must have certainly been a parrot

Since his call came at two in the afternoon.

I tickled your ribs and you began to unravel,

Until I slipped out of your warm cocoon.

You made me an omelet with cheese and bacon.

I learned that I loved you, but I remained speechless.

We watched, from the balcony, the city awaking,

Embracing the boroughs with stretching bridges.

There was nothing to do and no one around,

So we took the express train into Manhattan.

The electrical worm swerved deep underground.

When we came up for air -- it was already seven.

We ate Middle Eastern, and smoked a hookah.

The scent of jasmine colored the evening lavender.

The moon on the skyline was like a bookmark

As though we would one day return to this avenue.

I remained speechless. The moment was fragile.

A single touch and the clock would beat out of sync.

A couple of words and it could have been tragic.

You and I, -- we were falling in love on the brink...

### Anti-War Poetry

Anti-war poetry must be written quietly.

To draw attention, whisper it under your breath.

People won't listen if they sense urgency or violence.

Never mention the economy, casualties, death...

Instead, write about spring on a college campus,

About icicles trickling onto the pavement or

About gorgeous girls in short skirts playing tennis,

Who would ever exchange this for war?

### Shotgun

Lovers fall in love inadvertently. Serpent-like,

The shotgun smoke slithers into the soul's core.

Empty yourself into me unreservedly,

Scrape my throat for resin and pack one more.

### The Trip

You drink your caffeine like a fiend.

This campus –

a set for some Hollywood movie,

where we are the extras.

This scene

will never be viewed, but the moving

branches mimic true life.

We are patiently watching it slip.

I will miss you tomorrow.

Already, I've

packed all my bags for the trip.

### Parting

There was no grief in your eyes.

You ignored my trembling hand.

No, you had no time for goodbyes...

You made passionate love till the end.

### Insomnia

I can't sleep. I hear cars on the wet highway.

Life doesn't stop when your eyes are closed.

You are next to me. We are lying sideways,

With our legs and our destinies intercrossed.

I wonder if this is what love does for others,

If questioning love is an act of love on its own.

Is this why your hand gropes under the covers,

For my arm, to make certain you aren't alone?

### The Fog

The fog descended. Nothing could be seen.

The chairs out on the balcony were wet.

He held her by the waist. She leaned

Over the fence and threw the cigarette,

Which at the time was lit, to see it mark

Its path across the grayness of the mist

And when at last it vanished in the dark,

It dawned on her that all of us exist

Just in the moment of some endless chase,

For one another radiating light,

So as to guide each other through the maze,

Which one, alone, cannot discern at night.

### I continued to kiss you...

I continued to kiss you,  
gently caressing your calves  
and thighs in the backseat of the taxi  
and you laughed with delight,  
and either there was lightning outside  
or the curious paparazzi  
were taking indecent photographs  
of us for the weekly issue...

### Careful thief

She stole my voice and shut the door.  
Startled, I stared at the window.  
Like a careful thief, she wore  
Leather gloves that winter.

### Autumn. The chill draws nearer...

Autumn. The chill draws nearer.  
You bring up the glass to your face  
And the creases appear on the mirror  
Which no iron could ever erase...

### I wasted my nights...

I wasted my nights writing constantly,  
till there was no lead in the pencil,  
while the heat from the lamp on the nightstand  
drove me senseless.

I imagined myself in a large auditorium,  
in front of a single person.  
Plaster fell from the walls of the corridors  
when I started reading my verses.

I wanted to make her love me,  
(as if she hadn't loved me otherwise)  
to make sure that she wasn't bluffing  
with her bottomless loving eyes.

I wanted to make her yield to me,  
and force her to profess her love for me,  
as if she refused to give it up willingly,  
so I had to perform a robbery.

I wanted to overtake her with lightning  
and thunder, giving her everything in me.  
So I wasted my nights writing;  
I didn't know how to love her simply.

### Ever Since Our Pathways Crossed...

"Brahms endlessly revised compositions and sent them to friends for advice and criticism. He sent some songs to Clara Schumann with the request, "Write me if possible one short word about each,... such as: No.5, Bad; No.6, shameful; No.7, ridiculous."

In 1879, an honorary doctoral degree from Breslau University calling Brahms "the first among today's masters" provoked a venomous attack from Richard Wagner, who sneered, 'Compose, compose, even if you don't have the slightest of ideas.'"

Excerpt from An Appreciation Of Music, 7th Edition

Ever since our pathways crossed,  
I'm like a kid each time I see you  
and I compose, compose, compose,  
without the slightest of ideas!

I hush my love for now, but once,  
I can no longer hide this ardor,  
I'll send you poems just as Brahms  
Sent "shameful" symphonies to Clara...

### Moving On

We fell in love when love was out of season.

I wrote you poems. Time will dry the ink

And I'll move on somehow. Moving on is easy...

Moving on is easy when you're on the brink.

### I want to paint the world yellow...

I want to paint the world yellow

and yell at

the top of my lungs

from the rooftops in tongues...

Hereafter,

I want to catch laughter

by its tail,

unveil-

ing

spring

by pulling a thread of its dress.

I want to learn to caress

the lips

that lisp

words of passion

and ash

my cigarette on the stone-cold by-line,--

on the evening skyline.

### Melancholy

You said

melancholy pieces suit me well.

Well,

today I dressed up in my Sunday best,

sobbed my belly out

until my stomach swelled...

In places of buttons,

tears

shone on my vest.

Careful not to spill a drop,

I rushed after you

with a mouthful of poetry to recite...

You

were walking down a half-lit avenue,

dressed seductively

in

black and white.

I caught up to you on the corner,

caught my breath

and calmly proposed,

"Listen,

honey,

I need a shoulder

for the burden of verses that I've composed.

Just ask me,

and I'll dedicate everything to you,

overflowing with grief,

and with tears

to spare.

Help me!

You don't want me to drown

\-- do you? --

in the bottomless void of gloom

and despair?"

You responded with laughter.

You thought I was kidding, --

just some talented actor

playing a role.

You didn't see all the misery hidden,

like some wonderful treasure,

at the depths of my soul...

### Learn to forgive the poets...

Learn to forgive the poets.

Don't reprove

for too much zeal,

when words turn cruel and rough.

We're wonder workers –

we attempt to move

not mountains,

but hearts of those we love.

Learn to ignore the passion,

when it's spilled,

like blood on snow,

onto the turning pages.

Poetic hearts, though tame,

cannot be stilled.

They're wild beasts

that sleep in metal cages.

Learn to provide for poets,

to accept

supporting roles

by which we are inspired

and learn to drain

until there's nothing left,

then drain some more

to keep alive the fire.

But mostly, learn to listen:

that's the art!

To see eternity

in evanescent moments.

Once you detect

their faintly beating hearts,

then (only then!),

you'll learn to love your poets.

### The city fell silent...

The city fell silent –

No electricity!

An outage of power –

How outrageously gorgeous!

In offices, restaurants,

On doorsteps and porches,

The suit-and-tie workers

All bathed in simplicity.

Impassioned and mischievous,

You blew out the candles.

Alone, in the darkness,

We kissed one another.

And hiding, like children,

So carefree and careless,

We searched for each other

Under the covers.

### Rockport

The explosions of fireworks in the sky

and the bonfire heat on your cheek.

Rockport. Crowds. The fourth of July.

Crammed together. Too loud to speak.

People. Prizes. Festivities. Lights.

And the marching music playing for hours.

Orange moon softly pulling the tides.

There was no seclusion for lovers.

But once the darkness veiled the coast,

on the shore, with a towel beneath us,

we made love, with our ankles exposed,

undisturbed by the thirsty mosquitoes.

### It rained. We walked.

It rained. We walked. Your hair

was getting wet.

I breathed its scent. We shared

a cigarette.

God, politics or Hermann Hesse, --  
I loved your voice.

We were together. I was blessed

and I rejoiced.

I held your hand. How fragile

was your glove!

I was naïve and I imagined

this was love...

### I walk among...

I walk among self-righteous, wicked Pharisees.

They crucify Me and My blood runs red.

There's truth in wine, but words are full of heresies

At Sunday masses, where My palms are read.

They tear My flesh. I wear the thorny crown.  
They spit at Me. I cleanse them with My tears.  
I hear My teachings murmured by the crowd.  
This murmur echoes for two thousand years.

### Parting II

I pray that you forget me when you meet

Another man, more suitable than I.

Exchanging kisses on the half-lit street,

Suppress my name. I beg you, do not sigh!

Let not the moon evoke your love for me.

Let not the wind remind you of my hands.

Time doesn't stop for lovers. Certainly,

We're no exception. Let us make amends.

Let's end it all at once. Heed my advice:

Forget me and the pain will perish quicker.

Put out the lights. You mustn't see my eyes

Illumined by the candle's nervous flicker.

### The Pianist

The grand piano bites your hands with jagged teeth.

You don't let up. I watch you play Beethoven

As if there's essence in your notes and life is brief.

The curtains rise. You leave the window opened.

You bleed in front of me. I dare not look away.

At once, a mortal and a god, you're omnipotent.

The harmony takes shape; what a superb array

Of colors, forms and barely whispered texts!

Your fingers tame the frantic keys and they

Rush to respond to you, one faster than the next,

Preceding you before the page is turned.

The melody is frantic; simple, yet complex.

Your eyes fixated, tranquil, calm and stern.

They take no note of me. They are sublime.

You're elsewhere, -- in another place, another time.

The last few notes and suddenly, your hands fall dead

Into some endless void. No echo. Only silence...

Then, wearily you rise, with half-closed eyelids,

As though a dreamer rising out of bed.

### Portrait of a Friend

She's dribbled paint and broken rhyme,

full of simplicity and chaos.

Her essence hangs in Guggenheim

on Pollock's canvas.

She seems enticing from a distance.

Admire her, but don't get close!

Just one more step and in an instant,

the thread of Ariadne's lost.

### I've lost you...

I've lost you, haven't I?

The time moves slower.

My words fall silently

like leaves in autumn.

Inside an empty church,

where mass just ended,

I'm Christ, whose open arms

now hang suspended.

Love flourishes and fades.

Alpha -- Omega.

One day, a god; the next --

a homeless beggar.

Perhaps, it's for the best, --

no love -- no jealousy.

Wash down my farewell kiss

with sips of Hennessy.

We've loved each other, dear, --

how can this love be over?

The cold receiver falls

as though an old revolver.

### Stranger

Ten minutes seemed like an eternity.

We were still strangers. All the same,

I loved you ardently and fervently.

I never even knew your name.

The music stopped while we were dancing.

You went as quickly as you came.

You took my breath with you and gasping,

I never even asked your name.

### My mornings are gray...

My mornings are gray as if someone lit the  
Incense and its smoke spread across the sky.  
Not that I'm feeling miserable, just a little  
Sad, perhaps, seeing the ink on my paper dry,

Knowing that something has muffled my music.  
You've left with your mind set. I should not   
Call you back to me. There's really no use in  
Opening wounds when you've tied the knot.

My mornings are gray. I've learned to accept  
Even the worst hands that life dealt out,  
Because, in the end, nothing changed except  
Autumn is colder this time around.

Clouds cover the campus in mystical haze,  
Keeping the roadways concealed in its cloak.  
The building we lived in appears out of place  
Or maybe I'm lost in the cigarette smoke,

But without you near, I don't know where to turn.  
Recalling each step, like an Alzheimer's patient,  
As I'm walking back home, dejected and stern,  
Not smiling, gloomy, depressed and impatient.

Dejected, I stray without purpose. It's autumn.  
Everything's barren and waiting for snow.  
I'm all alone here and I'm dying of boredom.  
Something is missing. And it's someone I know.

### Break-up

You're a tease, and I'm willing to beg...  
Do not leave in the middle of foreplay!  
I will follow you, stretching my neck  
through the guillotine of the doorway.

See my gaze, full of woe and regret? --  
Do not ask, "What's the matter?"  
To forget how to love you is to forget  
how to love all together!

### Revolution

"Only through new words might new worlds be called into order"

\--Saul Williams

No more cheeks glazed with raindrops, no more roses with thorns--

Only through new words might new worlds be called into order.

I speak of cracks in the pavement, out of which nothing is born,

Not of the green meadows and valleys worn out by immortals.

I speak of a landscape neither barren nor devoid of feelings,

I speak of a garden hidden away from the diligent muses.

I will recite my poetry into the drainpipes of nearby buildings

Until lifeless street-lamps grow ears to discern its music.

Listen! This is a call to bear arms for the sake of a new revolution.

This is a call to bear layers of burdens until hearts are laid bare!

This is a call to hand over overused metaphors to executioners, --

A penny for a thought till there's plenty of change to spare.

This is a call for a change of movement, a change of rhythm,

A call to turn turntables over and use them as drums for the beat...

A call for the heartbeat to cover the everyday skyline with ripples,

And to rip out the clouds that continue to cling to our feet.

### I've searched for my love...

I've searched for my love in the most unlikely of places,

translated ancient manuscripts from Hebrew and Latin,

studied the hieroglyphs in the pyramids' basements,

meditated for months on the mountaintop, in a cabin,

achieved enlightenment, but found it all irrelevant,

wandered the streets of Boston, naked and penniless,

picked up prostitutes on the corner outside of my tenement,

made love to all of them, but it was false and strenuous...

gave money to charity, broke bread with lepers and thieves,

drowned my sorrow nightly in bars and taverns,

beheld the spectrum, observing the changing leaves,

groped my way through the ruins of Rome and Athens,

converted to all religions, and renounced them violently,

smoked weed and cigarettes, and became rather restless,

She appeared out of nowhere, and asked me quietly,

"I've been waiting for you, will you join me for breakfast?"

### For weeks, I haven't had moment of repose...

For weeks, I haven't had a moment of repose,

My life is crashing waves and blaring thunder.

Your life is delicately woven prose

And you're afraid to let it take you under.

For once, you words have failed to convince.

For once, your reasons are as fallible as mine.

I'd like to give myself to you, but since

You won't accept me, I will give you time.

Forgive me for the careless use of words.

Forgive me for the recklessness of movement

And if I played your song in different chords,

Forgive me for the melody I've ruined.

### Love Song

I recited my poetry on the bank of a river.  
The weeping willow heard me and began to sway.  
I repeated my verses for the green caterpillar.  
She turned into a butterfly and fluttered away.  
I followed it slowly into the evening skyline.  
The skyline turned pink and began to blush.  
The gusting wind bit its lip and grew silent.  
The world was submersed by a sudden hush.  
I paused for a second to hear my own breathing,  
And I was at peace and relaxed here, among  
The willow, the butterfly, the wind and the evening,  
But you were asleep, so I ended my song...

### I gave you my heart...

I gave you my heart;

you took away my innocence...

I asked for something in return

and you responded,

"enough."

It was my voice

that tagged the walls of the pyramids

searching for the passageway

to the eternity

of your love.

If my words mean nothing to you,

disregard this,

but somewhere in Africa,

where the land is fruitless

and dry,

the tribesmen will recite my poetry

to their goddess,

and the clouds will rumble

with a thunderous cry...

### December Morning

Black, gray and white, like a daily paper,

carelessly crumpled, and thrown to the street,

the sky was reflected in the cold, puddled pavement.

People stepped on the clouds with negligent feet.

Today, the morning seemed strangely enigmatic.

Snowflakes were scattered on bushes and benches.

Like some lunatic lover, passionate and fanatic,

the wind kissed the downcast faces of strangers.

### Drunk

She flung my jacket on the bunk bed,

And as though shocked,

She said, "You aren't even drunk yet,

Come take a shot!"

She pulled two glasses right away

Out of the cupboard,

And filled them both about half-way

With Southern Comfort.

The two of us sought love and warmth

In mid-October,

I swore to her "From this day forth,

I won't be sober."

Each night since then I'm drinking her

Sweet voice and laughter.

I'm drunk with love and I defer

The morning after.

For all the lonely hearts out there,

With sullen faces,

Go out and drink, there's love to spare.

Get fucking wasted!

From mouth to mouth drink her breath,

No need for chasers!

Then, order more, there is plenty left,

Just ask the waitress.

Go drink her eyes, her hands, her scent,

The color of her lipstick.

Life is so gorgeous when you get

A little tipsy...

### At a Local Dunkin Donuts

At a local Dunkin Donuts, (at 2 am,

the only place still open in this town),

enjoying a toasted bagel with eggs, ham,

and cheese, you suddenly feel bound

to college life, and you can hardly grasp

that in a year, you'll graduate, and worried,

you walk up to the counter and ask

the kind lady for another cup of coffee.

You always feel dejected during winter.

Not finding the words, you only draw

a question mark upon the foggy window,

and walk outside under the falling snow...

### Silence

As I light your cigarette, I watch how your hands shake

along with the lighter flame hidden between their brackets.

I can't image you elsewhere but this winter landscape,

with your burgundy scarf and the brown leather jacket.

There'll be only us two if we show just a little patience.

Close your eyes to the world, escape its everyday nuisance.

Sharing a pillow and everything that is gained in translation,

we'll find a shelter in a forgotten corner of Massachusetts.

Turn off the lights and plastic stars will become fluorescent.

They are glowing for us, illuminating the ceiling's surface.

Turn the clock to the wall and disregard time's presence,

Sleep through the alarm and pretend it doesn't concern us.

You entered my life out of nowhere. I awoke one morning

with my arm wrapped around you and I kissed your eyelids.

To say that I love you would be saying too much too early.

Let's just leave it at that, dear, and enjoy the silence.

### Journal Entry

Poets starve on street corners with outstretched hands.  
God, have mercy! I despise the sight of the page  
where metaphors are recycled like aluminum cans  
for a nickel a piece, but hardly make enough change  
for me to buy beer (and I used to consider my verses  
priceless). While you invest your time into money, blind  
to beauty, only trying to stuff your wallets and purses,  
the muses are laboring and you pay them no mind.  
My soul is swollen with unanswered prayers,  
my words fall lifeless like a soldier's flatline,  
I wake up every morning to the eternal grayness  
that spreads like incense smoke over the skyline.  
My closest friends are scattered throughout the centuries.

We write to each other to remain in touch.  
No, these aren't poems here, - these are journal entries,  
timeless and beautiful, treat them as such...

### O what a useless waste...

O what a useless waste of flesh I am! --

A man with no ambition. What is worse

I laugh at it and do not give a damn,--

I have no conscience, pity or remorse.

I loathe these words – sophists' inventions

That do not mean a thing. This time

I have accepted that there's no redemption

For those like me, and furthermore, no crime.

From this day forth, I praise my selfishness!

From this day forth, my will is my command!

I'm made of dirt and I despise embellishments,

Watch as the roses whither in my hand!

I am that homeless with the toothless grin

That seems to stand out in the morning havoc.

I lead a life of excess bliss and sin,

And what is more, I am extremely happy.

The world is on the verge of its demise.

The war to end all wars is now in progress.

I see it all inside your tired eyes.

You play your roles as though predestined actors.

Each step is by the book. How I adore

The shuffle of your feet, the rush-hour traffic!

I am the only man alive, and what is more,

This very day, I am extremely happy.

### Good and Bad

Good and Bad --

Embedded in God.

In God we trust.

In bed we lust

For getting bad

And getting good

Forbidden fruit,

Forgetting God

For good

And bad,

Forgive us, God.

### Verses For Her

Prologue

All of my life,

I've transgressed against You!

Do what You will to me, -- starve me and curse me, --

but just this once, listen to me

without scorn or censure, --

this very day, an atheist prays for mercy!

Listen,

Goodness,

if You have the least bit of decency,

have pity on my soul, -- it is tired and dismal, --

send the Holy Spirit to earth to visit me,

I need all the help I could get on this one.

Teach me

to verbalize the agony of my love lucidly,

write the words on my tongue as though on parchment.

Let her hear me out,

but know, if she refuses me,

tonight,

I'll see You for the final judgment!

***

You sit here, baffled,

eyes -- ripe with tragedy,

not letting a word slip in-between deep sighs.

I can feel my body slowly losing gravity,

being pulled only to your troubled eyes.

You shrink like a criminal before the judge.

I hover above you, menacing,

phantom-like.

Ignoring my threats, you're still refusing to budge.

Tell me you love me, pantomime!

You seem to be dissecting my words pensively.

Fine. Take your time. It is all in your hands.

(Give me a clue. Say anything. Answer me!)

Not a word in response.

Somber silence descends.

No? Enough of this!

I can't endure this friendship!

Him or me?

We've long reached that point!

Pick one of us now and end this head-trip,

If you'd like, you can flip a coin!

No?

Fine!

Go to him! Let him call you, "honey."

I'll be waiting at the corner every time you part.

No matter how you try, you cannot outrun me,

Burdened by the weight of my heavy heart!

You'll stay up with him, drinking Hennessey,

reminiscing, in an amorous rendezvous,

suddenly, the sun will rise, soaked in jealousy,

like the bloodied red eye of a bull.

As you're kissing him, I'll brush you slightly

with an autumn zephyr and disappear.

In the moment of passion, I'll be right beside you

whispering poetry into your ear.

I won't give you a moment of silence.

I will sit on your doorsteps, begging for alms.

Don't you know that there's no asylum

other than the refuge of my opened arms?

You'll go to confession – I'll pose as the priest.

I'll trespass in the temple of God, if I have to.

I won't let you go!

Out of pity, at least,

stay here for now, -- you can fall for me after!

Please, don't leave me! --

this is ridiculous! --

If you're ashamed of me, dear, listen,

I will love you quietly and remain inconspicuous,

like an immigrant without a visa.

I will pickpocket kisses from you

on the busy subway

and leave you flabbergasted, like a great magician

with a sleight of hand can leave the public

believing in miracles with superstition.

Or if you wish, I can love you zealously, palpably,

play our love on the trumpet

on 42nd and Broadway,

turn your tears into gold through the magic of alchemy

and that will be merely the beginning of foreplay.

You don't trust me?

With my poet's salary,

You doubt that I could support your wants?

Do you see all these stars?

From my balcony,

I command them like castles, bishops and pawns.

With a sky for a ceiling and a cloud for a bed,

I'll keep you in my arms where the time moves slower.

I'll chase down your dreams with a butterfly net.

Tell me, what does he offer?!

Through my words, you'll acquire such riches and fame,

wealthy kings will fight over your crumbs.

Kissing their wives, men will silence your name

and treasure it under their tongues.

Trust me! My verses will fill the temples,

I'll teach the world to renounce false idols.

Tell me you love me

and the earth will tremble

from the heavy footsteps of our disciples!

Tell me you love me and, rest assured,

I will praise our love with such certainty

that we'll break though the door of the vestibule

and together, we'll enter eternity.

### Summertime

Summertime and women hang their clothes

from the fire-escapes of red-brick buildings.

I have learned to love this city's prose

staring at them from the street and shielding

zealous eyes from blinding rays, as I

walked to school and took in all the splendor.

Wearied, aged, and powerful, and tender, \--

those were merely angels in the sky.

### Insomnia

It's not that our relationship needs to be fixed

or that living without you has become unbearable,

it's more the uncertainty of the future mixed

with the certainty that I love you terribly, \--

it's the cigarette we shared in Central Park,

and the fountain we embraced by in Lincoln Center,

it's the poetry I read for you echoing in the dark,

and the frame of your body, long and slender,

it's the thought that we can't pin time to the floor,

it's the cars outside and the sudden shrill of

their breaks that keep me up, wishing you were

next to me, with my arm underneath your pillow.

### VM

Life is brutal.

Love is brittle.

Lily, love me!

Just a little...

### New England

Only here in New England can you experience

four seasons in a week, hardly leaving your room.

In this small town, a man can become delirious

on a clear night and howl at a half-a-moon.

At the local coffee shop, you can encounter

homeless Harvard graduates, reeking of cheap booze

and recognize Lady Madonna behind the counter

whose concealing makeup covers her nightly bruise.

Here, in the city of clocks, everything is routine,

the postman is never late with your morning paper,

you have no identity, only your shadow's seen

dragging itself across the oblivious pavement.

It is here that the best years of your life are spent

carelessly, with no concern for your lungs and liver,

still ignoring the fact that your future's at hand,

skinny dipping with stars in the nearby river.

### The best place for writing poetry...

The best place for writing poetry is on the bus

especially when leaving a loved one, especially

if you know you'll go back there eventually,

in a week, in a month, or a year, but you must

know you'll see her, otherwise, you won't be able

to write with a clear head, -- assurance is key,

and unless you know that she'll read it, it'll be

merely a monologue and why waste the paper?

Begin the poem with separation, start it simply

with her eyes, her appearance, and slowly, continue

writing, selflessly giving it everything in you

out of selfishness, out of need for her sympathy.

### This campus is attractive in the spring...

This campus is attractive in the spring. Though

Here I've learned that looks can be deceiving,

I now surrender to the beauty of the evening

And fall in love, without a second thought.

Forgive me all I've finished, or begun

And never finished, for my songs and verses,

For stubbornness, and honesty, and curtness, \--

Forgive me all I've done or haven't done...

Just think! A month and life begins anew:

(Four walls, a window, and a dog named "Marcus.")

I call your name and smile in the darkness, -

These days I dream of sleeping next to you.

### Poets and prophets...

Poets and prophets are stricken with poverty.

Post-modernism is all about the profits.

Quit counting paper! On your street, there's probably,

At least a couple of starving prophets.

I've reserved a place for myself on the corner,

In a cardboard box, with a dumpster near.

Sir, are you a registered organ donor?!

Is there anyone willing to lend me an ear?

I'm pregnant with poetry, anything will help!

I've sold my soul into prostitution!

If you ignore me, I'll have to poison myself,

Inhaling the toxins of urban pollution!

Sir, I implore you! My words are orphans.

I can't support them on my petty pension.

Please, kind people, donate your organs!

The poets are starving for some attention!

### If only for the simple fact...

If only for the simple fact

That distance nurtures ardor,

Somehow, one must adapt

To live without the other.

The parting seconds must

Be passionate and brief.

You kissed me by the bus.

I didn't want to leave.

Although I could've stopped

The flow of time, this rapture's

Reserved for cameras and not

For poetry to capture.

By God, I swear, I've tried

(I understood - time flies),

To savor everything that I

Could not immortalize...

### Happiness

How did this happiness happen?

I remember: grayness and the ashes

of the sun's ember dying on the aspen

leaves and on the puddled asphalt

when we went outside for a smoke.

We spoke of old habits.

It was all a big joke.

How did this happiness happen?

\- Suddenly! In a fraction

of a second, that's all it took!

\- An instant attraction?

\- All by the book!

\- Not quite, we were both hesitant,

neither of us wanted to make...

\- But everything seemed so pleasant then,

we didn't want to awake!

\- I remember everything lucidly.

the bed-sheets, the throbbing pulse.

the curves of your body were glued to me.

\- Is that why you convulsed?

\- Electricity in my veins. I shook.

We were two live wires.

\- A mere second is all it took

to ignite the fire.

\- I remember I answered your call,

"Lunch at Cappy's?"

\- You said, "yes," and that's all

that it took to be happy....

### Shatter

The camera captures your face at a slow shutter.

Mascara runs down your lashes, the mirror is smeared.

Don't dwell on reflections, let the glass shatter.

Let the glass shatter, dear!

Let the past shatter around your ankles.

Ignore small talk and meaningless chatter.

Learn to observe people from every angle,

If they seem shallow, -- let them all scatter!

Don't you dare rest your head on a cold shoulder!

The wall may be harder, but choose the latter.

Let your body shudder if the wall is colder,

If the body's colder, -- let the wall shudder!

### This town...

This town is a maze of winding streets,

Built inefficiently, but as a form of art,

They are a testament to man's creative feats,

And every intersection plays its part.

A college graduate, I live in what remained

Of an archaic duplex, right behind

A tiny church that never bred a saint,

And should it be demolished, few would mind.

I've studied mathematics, now I pass

My knowledge to indifferent adolescents

That hardly find the time to come to class,

To talk to friends and to ignore my lessons.

I read and write when time allows. I tend

To find peace in poetry, but mostly,

I like to read out loud in my bed;

My girlfriend falls asleep to Mayakovsky.

### I'm from...

I'm from Moscow winters, mud mixed with snow,

from the hands of the clocks that were moving too slow,

from the hole in the fence of the school where I went,

from the grip of the girl that was holding my hand,

from Shakespeare, Nietzsche, Pushkin and Brodsky,

from Nabokov, Kerouac and Mayakovsky,

from the dust on the bookshelves turned gold in the light,

from cigarette smoke that dissolved in the night...

and the country that nursed me that dissolved in my sight...

From the dirt on the asphalt, the sun on my back,

from the triple-threat stance: pass, shoot and attack,

from the chains on the rim that I couldn't yet reach,

from the summers I've spent with my dog at the beach,

from the bully at school that tested my patience,

from the music that blasted from the radio station,

from the choices I've made and felt no regret,

from poems I'd write every night before bed...

to the poems I'd hide every night in my head...

From the back of the building where my idol smoked pot,

from the same building lobby where my teammate got shot,

from the image I saw when I looked at myself,

from the ghetto I loved and the ghetto I left,

from the college in Waltham where I searched for my place,

from the girl in my math class that I started to chase

from the library steps, from the innocent glance,

from the ring on her finger and her hand in my hands

to the moment where everything froze in suspense...

### Katrina

The story was simple:

Katrina loved Jazz...

The cymbals, the sax

Were all merely symbols.

The eye of the eagle

Met the eye of the storm.

The cry of the people

For the city had formed

A new wave of sound

That rose up to drown-

Out the drums and the bass.

She was dazzled and dazed

By the blues, by the riffs

Of the weeping guitars,

By the crumbling roofs,

And the howling alarms,

By New Orleans in water -

By this modern Atlantis

That was soaked in a tear

And washed off the atlas,

By the scene on the canvas

Where clouds were smeared.

### The greatest lies...

The greatest lies are those we tell ourselves.

I once believed my words were heaven-sent,

Arranged old chapbooks on the dusty shelves,

And found some meaning in a compliment.

Behind a wooden desk, I spent each night,

In yellow light which made the pages ancient,

Believing that, like God, a man could write

The world into existence, with some patience.

Through all of this, I never paused (to breathe!)

To see that life passed by unnoticed while

I looked for adjectives, that beauty's span is brief,

And that my writing is an act of self-denial.

### Waltz

Teach me to dance a waltz,

To lose myself and lead,

Synchronize my pulse

With the music's beat.

Teach me each single turn

And a firm grip,

So that my hands can learn

Not to let yours slip.

Show me a way to kiss,

Keeping my eyes – closed

And afterwards, savor bliss

Of paradise lost,

To breathe, exhale air,

And again -- from scratch! --

To fall in love, flare,

Melting the snow in March.

### The contrast of my green eyes...

The contrast of my green

Eyes and mundane anonymity

Is the thin line between

Humanity and divinity.

Whether I leave a mark

Or depart unrecognized,

My eyes will light up the dark

Casket or bright paradise.

Buried or swept away,

As ashes or in flesh, -

Even if bones decay,

My soul will remain fresh.

Words won't slither after me

Into the cemetery.

My poetry's my biography,

Silence - obituary.

### The future came...

The future came. We didn't greet our guest.

It waited by the door and turned around.

We sat down by the window. You undressed

And lit a cigarette. I read to you about

Two star-crossed lovers kissing by the gate

(You always loved my melancholy writing).

It must have been a Friday. It was late.

It poured outside. The sudden streaks of lightning

Lit up the room and all the space inside,

Between the kitchen table and the window

And if it wasn't for the candle light,

Our furniture would surely vanish into

The pitch-black night. I took the final drag

And read the final stanza, dragging out

Each syllable as if to hold time back,

To stretch each silent second with a sound.

### If I run out of paper...

If I run out of paper, let me write on a cloud.  
First thing in the morning, in the outskirts of Ireland,  
A child will rise to read my verses aloud,  
He'll weep at our love and the sky will turn violet.

I want to marry you over and over, each day.  
Birds will sing and deer will eat from your hand.  
In the middle of March, green birches will sway  
And we'll sprawl out and tan on the sand.

We'll dance without music, find reasons to sing,  
And travel the world to quench all our cravings.  
Our trees will grow money during the spring, -  
We'll rake leaves in autumn to gather our savings.

I promise you -- I'll milk the Milky Way dry,  
Picking out pearls to make you a necklace...  
And if we awake before pigs learn to fly, -  
Well, at least, there'll be bacon for breakfast.

### Ella

How I wish that I could call you "Ella,"  
know you on the first-name basis,  
so I could sit and listen to your mellow,  
peaceful voice in crowded places,  
clouded by cigar smoke and blue light,  
sip my drink and swaying to the rhythm  
of the bass guitar and drums, each night,  
feel your soul dispersing into ripples.  
Yesterday, I heard one of your albums  
for the first time ever, as you cast  
spells on me through ageless, timeless ballads.  
Yesterday, I fell in love with Jazz.

### August 20, 2008

Seagulls are crying, like no one can hear them,  
Elephant ears, lobster-tails with butter,  
A bear of a dog and the little one near him,  
And old photographs, - everything's cluttered,  
The wind from the sea is piercing and brutal,  
Bare feet on the pavement, props for a movie,  
A warm cup of coffee and a chocolate strudel,  
And rocks on the coastline, - everything's moving,  
A woman from Norway whose English is German,  
A bummed cigarette and a garden of flowers,  
The opera singer, the street that we turned on,  
The bench that we sat on - everything's ours...

### Let's set some time aside for love...

Let's set some time aside for love.

We'll wake up early in the morning,

Concerned with work we're dreaming of,

Which always proves to be concerning.

I'll make the bed and brush my teeth.

You'll make a toasted turkey sandwich

For me to take to work. We'll leave

On time for once. Somehow, I'll manage

To teach my students to graph lines

Without a graphing calculator

To reproduce - change over time -

A wage made by an average waiter.

You'll search for errors in some code

(It'll prove to be an extra comma).

The sun will sink. We'll hit the road

And think about the passing summer.

We'll throw out trash and do the dishes.

We'll eat our dinner, clean the table  
And crash down on the couch, wishing

To sleep a bit, but won't be able.

We'll go online and search for faucets,

Discuss refinishing the basement

And how our bedroom needs more closets,

And just before the evening's wasted,

We'll light a smoke and drink some wine

To ease our headaches just enough

For us to pause and find some time

To set some time aside for love...

### Nights here are quiet...

Nights here are quiet, if you can ignore the crickets.

If you can't, Natick should not be your town of choice.

Unable to sleep, you'll chain-smoke, thinking

about money or schoolwork, her scent or her voice.

You'll get to know insomnia on a first-name basis.

The electric bill will double before you can strike a match

to light a candle. In twilight, you'll greet strange faces,

resembling yours in some way. You'll feel detached

from any sense of reality. You'll have to stop and retrain

your body to walk in the dark, aware of the landscape.

Your ears will catch everything from the horn of a train,

to someone's soft breathing, to a far-away handshake.

You'll get a job at store twenty-four, across the station,

drown boredom in tabloids and steal snacks from the shelf.

At dawn, the analog clock will start testing your patience

Sometime around noon, you'll learn to talk to yourself.

You'll scribble poetry on the margin of some magazine,

With a headline about Brittney gaining twenty pounds  
And it won't take you long to see that the grass is green,

And Chardonnay tastes better with no one around.

### Prayer

What can I do? Pray?

Sadness - immense and vast.

Silence is dense and gray.

The skyline is overcast

with sadness. It swells and bursts

and overflows the drains.

Silence can't quench my thirst, -

sadness alone remains.

I drink it with slow sips.

My eyelids are tightly shut.

Sadness – a kiss on the lips -

my tongue is blistering hot.

Teardrops are glistening,

uncontrollable. I can't stop.

God, are You listening?!

Listen, God!

My hands - reaching high

to somehow narrow the breach,

to pull down the sky,

which appears out of reach.

Should I attend church

climb to the steeple's top,

bridge the gap and emerge

from clouds (woken up

from a dream in a daze)

wet and newly baptized?

I'd like to study His face

as He stares at my eyes.

Stop her from leaving me!

Goodness, deceive me not!

God, are You seeing me?!

See me, God!

All alone. Lights dimmed.

She's no longer here.

What could I tell Him

now, if He didn't hear

then? What could I tell Him

now, if He couldn't discern

my voice in a choral hymn

then, when I sang for her?

Prayers are far-fetched.

My fingers - nearly detached.

My arms are outstretched;

His are too far to latch

onto.

### Elegy

Fingers bent in brackets -

Shield the candle's flame.

It is bending backwards

Closer to the frame,

Liquefied and molten,

Now, - just smoke and air...

Once, I used to hold it -

Now, it isn't there.

Once, he used to hold me, -

Now, I stand and stare -

From the heavy coffin,

\- lighter than the air,

His soul, detached, will rise

In an upward curve.

His massive body lies

Six feet in the earth

In full depth and breadth,

Heavier than a sigh.

Lighter than a breath,

\- one foot in the sky...

### Especially from up high...

I

Especially from up high, the eye adores

This city, from a distance, in the evening

And life is wonderful again, - although, of course,

The last few times have proved to be deceiving.

Have I gone mad or is this love? I cannot say...

No matter what it is, this time I'm certain

That not a thing will change from day to day,

And every time I pull aside the curtains,

I feel convinced that I will recognize

The scenery unchanged. To put it loosely,

I will not miss much if I close my eyes,

As one might do when listening to music...

II

Especially from up high, the eye adores

This city, from a distance, in the evening...

I lay beside you and I hear your breathing,

I watch you sleeping and I'm short of words.

Have I gone mad or is this love? I cannot say...

No matter what it is, this time I'm certain

That any choice I make is inadvertent.

I know that life is predetermined in some way.

I feel convinced that I will recognize

The scenery unchanged. To put it loosely,

Somehow I know that I will never lose you

As we awake and watch the sun arise.

III

I watch you sleeping and I'm short of words.

I lay beside you and I hear your breathing,

And life is wonderful again, - although, of course,

The last few times have proved to be deceiving.

I know that life is predetermined in some way,

That any choice I make is inadvertent,

That not a thing will change from day to day,

And every time I pull aside the curtains

As we awake and watch the sun arise,

Somehow, I know that I will never lose you;

I will not miss much if I close my eyes,

As one might do when listening to music...

### During the day...

During the day, I resurrect the dead. I dash

across the classroom where my students

are slipping in and out of coma as they crash

against their desks. I work on their endurance.

I like to think it's not in vain. There's no mistake

and something's cooking if their brains are fried...

I know that one fine morning they'll awake

and see Pythagoras and Euclid in new light.

They'll rise up from their seats, still half asleep,

with love of math and new-found thirst for knowledge.

If nothing else, perhaps, they'll learn to keep

their checkbooks balanced as they sleep through college.

### Again, I smile to myself...

Again, I smile to myself  
While reading poetry aloud.  
The world is beautiful - it swells  
With every single spoken sound.

The cotton-candy clouds melt  
And let the sun shine through.  
This all began the day I fell -  
Headfirst - in love with you.

The cardinal won't end his song  
Until the moon emerges  
And every birch's unique among  
A dozen other birches.

The sunset sky is tangerine  
With just a dash of cherry.  
Let's ride our bikes to Dairy Queen  
Across the cemetery.

### SOS

The generational gap is a snare  
And the price that we pay is steep.  
With no free minutes to spare,  
Our cell-phones sing us to sleep.

Our guardians stayed in the past –  
We're alone. We demand an apology!  
With no one to look after us,  
We are raised by technology.

We follow the latest trends,  
And create our friends in our likeness  
In our virtual world of pretense.  
We worship our desktop icons.

We scream at the deep blue square,  
But no one inside it is listening.  
We sit, transfixed by the glare  
Of a thousand pixels glistening.

We are social butterflies bound  
By the world-wide-web of distress, -  
No, we aren't "laughing out loud,"  
This is our S-O-S.

### I must confess...

I must confess before I burn in shame.  
This time, I fear, I broke the sacred bond.  
Last night, I called another by your name,  
You - didn't notice. He - did not respond.

### No one cares to bring charges against me...

No one cares to bring charges against me,  
Though I'm guilty of something or other.  
Well, for one, I'm in love and my lover  
Shares my feelings and loves me immensely.

Though I hardly deserve any freedom,  
The authorities choose not to censor me.  
I write letters to you and you answer me, -  
I write poems to you and you read them.

I see future and it isn't unbearable,  
And the past is the past – let's not mention it.  
The mistakes that I thought could potentially  
Tear our lives apart were repairable.

Life is peaceful, - I imagined it turbulent.  
And I'm happy, at least, for the moment.  
When I imagined becoming a poet, -  
I imagined that grief would be permanent.

I imagined more sweat, tears and rage,  
I imagined my whole body wrenching.  
I imagined a cross, and a crowd and stretching  
Arms across centuries, begging for change...

### You surrendered to me...

You surrendered to me light-heartedly,  
Only to overtake me suddenly -  
Like a window curtain, you parted me,  
Looking through me and past me solemnly, -  
As if wanting to say something quietly,  
You started telling me about him timidly -  
But I understood everything silently –  
And I saw your pain rather vividly.  
And with tears in my eyes: "Don't leave me!  
You and I are one. You will fracture me..."  
You didn't answer me, thinking naively  
That I didn't mean what I said actually.

### I'm a hunter...

I'm hunter, a predator, trying to capture  
The wing of a cardinal on a camera screen.  
But startled, it flutters, escaping the aperture  
And flies away, - scarlet over emerald green.

Perhaps in a poem, if not on a photo, -  
If not on a screen, the perhaps on a page...  
So strong is my passion to conquer and cage  
The cardinal wing and birches in autumn...

### Haunted house

I tell her time and again that the house is haunted,  
That it's time to move on, but she doesn't listen.  
I look at our beagle and his eyes start to glisten, -  
He scowls at me, grins and howls, undaunted.

As I walk up the stairs, there's a man in the mirror,  
He watches me calmly, without ever speaking.  
I squeeze on the railing until it starts creaking, -  
I rush to the bedroom, but still feel him near me.

She turns off the light and the walls become gray.  
My whole body shakes as I lie down beside her,  
And the black chandelier starts to sway like a spider,  
Slowly stretching its tentacles towards the prey.

One day, I'll convince her that it's not in my head,  
That I was telling the truth right from the onset,  
That the painting frames change their colors at sunset,  
And that a skeleton's hiding under our bed.

### There were four women in my life...

There were four women in my life. The first  
Reached down and took my heart out of the cradle  
And rocked me in her arms until I dreamt  
A different world in which I was submersed  
I stumbled as we walked. I was unable  
To force myself to let go of her hand.

The second one was made out of my rib.  
We danced on puddles, calling for more rain,  
Played hide-and-seek, and lost each other as  
The puddles froze just when I learned to skip.  
I never meant to cause her any pain.  
I slowly side-stepped through the looking glass.

The third was waiting on the other side,  
(Or did I wait for her?) In either case,  
She gave me wings and opened up my cage.  
She set me loose and I was lost in flight,  
(Or was she lost?) Maneuvering with grace,  
She vanished in the mist as seasons changed.

The fourth one flashed like lightning in my eyes  
And briefly blinded me. When I awoke,  
She was still sleeping, tranquil and sublime.  
And to this day, she has me mesmerized  
Just as the day she asked me for a smoke,  
And I will love her till the end of time.

### They grabbed her by the neck...

They grabbed her by the neck and squeezed  
Their drunken fingers, made her pale.  
They struck her chords until she wheezed,  
They shook her up until she wailed.

Whole crowds rushed for her, enraged,  
They shoved and pushed ahead, refusing  
To wait their turn. I cried, off stage, -  
I was too scared to face the music.

### My sixth sense says...

My sixth sense says:  
\- "Do what you want"  
God will forgive our sins,  
Since we won't.

There's nothing left to explain -  
It's as plain as daylight -  
Why extend this pain,  
Leave it by the wayside.

Don't think of it twice.  
It's wise to walk away certain.  
It was all rather nice,  
It's becoming a burden

To carry (nothing inside)  
All of it on our shoulders  
While pretending to glide,  
With the weight of a boulder.

### Autumn

Either Autumn came  
or something's out of order!  
The maples, in crimson flames,  
are begging for some water.  
Smoke rises from the cement.  
But there's no lightning, no thunder!  
A beagle picks up the scent  
of the fleeting summer.  
The sun sets, covered in ash.  
The evening skyline's darkened.  
The temperatures rise and crash,  
like stocks in the open market.  
The lungs expand and collapse,  
fragile, brittle and frail,  
And centuries seem to elapse  
before one can even exhale...  
Before one can take it all in,  
the fingers release the pencil  
And sweat starts to seep through the skin,  
like ink through a stencil...

### Lullaby

You were taken from my rib-cage. -  
From my rib!  
Now my heart beats with new passion  
In a crib.

I observe it sleeping soundly  
From above.  
Wrapped in soft and fluffy blankets  
Of my love.

When the evening sky descends,  
Stars will shine  
To ensure that all your dreams  
Stay divine.

I remember when I first fell  
For those eyes,  
When your mother held me with them  
Mesmerized.

Now the same two precious fires  
Light my day,  
When they wake up with the sun,  
And look my way.

### Go unplug your television...

Go unplug your television,  
Constant rain and markets crashing,  
And the hundredth repetition  
Of the season's latest fashions.

Go turn off the grim prognosis,  
And the doctor's new prescriptions,  
For depression, runny noses,  
And your cancers in remission.

Go switch off the hottest action,  
Sex and money, drug addictions,  
And the search for satisfaction  
That is full of contradictions.

Turn your back on wealthy Christians  
And their arms of toothless smiles  
Asking you to fund their mission  
And those children's endless trials.

Close your ears to regulations  
Of self-centered politicians  
That assist big corporations  
With a friendly disposition.

Break away from your attachment -  
Shark attacks and train collisions,  
And instead use better judgment, -  
Go unplug your television.

### I think this calls for a drink...

I think this calls for a drink  
Though I'd rather not drink alone.  
I'm ready to give her a ring  
Though she never picks up her phone.  
I'm ready to tie the knot -  
The rope on my neck doesn't faze me.  
She loves me? She loves me not?  
I torture flies when I can't find daisies.

### Rockport in spring...

Rockport in spring, with its photo galleries,  
Ice-cream sundaes, dogs of all breeds -  
Here you suddenly feel the disparities  
Between time and its cobblestone streets.  
At every corner, the view is enchanting -  
The same gray seagulls above the marinas.  
...But if the universe is ever-expanding  
So too is the distance between us,  
That is to say I'm not who I was then,  
Even a year ago, - it's rather astounding,  
But as kids we mark the wall, as men  
We track our changes by our surroundings.  
Perhaps, this is why I'm drawn to the coast,  
Every spring, by this quaint little town, -  
To cherish the details that will soon be lost, -  
Every sunset hue, every spoken sound.

### Intimate

Like inmates, we became intimate,  
Like we had no choice in the matter,  
Intimate, like we were infinite,  
Like we became matted,  
Became indifferent to differences,  
(They became intangible,)  
Until we became interchangeable,  
Impalpable, and indistinguishable,  
Same features, same fingerprints,  
Same lungs – inflammable,  
Same tongues - inextinguishable!

### Coffee but no cups

It's the end of August and the rain won't stop,  
And the cars all drift through this water maze,  
People watch their feet, hardly looking up,  
And I float along through this smoky haze.

How this city's aged! – It is gray and cold,  
Buildings fall down flat on the puddled street,  
And I feel as though I don't fit this mold, -  
Everyone seems dull, everything's concrete.

Do you remember us in that tiny room,  
With the curtains drawn, and the candle lit?  
Though we understood: we'd be parting soon,  
We naively thought: we could handle it.

We were happy then, in our little nook, -  
You read me poetry on the windowsill.  
What we didn't know is the tears it took,  
And the years it took, and the strength of will.

It's the little things that you've left behind  
Or took away with you that I cannot bear,  
Coming home from work, all alone, to find  
Coffee, but no cups and an empty chair...

### Cadillac, Bar Harbor

The stars burst all around the slopes  
Of Cadillac, where we lay, huddled.  
The universe - under the microscope!  
We, - dazed and befuddled.

Beyond the bend, the sun felt no need  
To rush to the harbor's revival.  
Under the veil of night, the speed  
Of memory had no rivals.

I strained my eyes, as if I could glimpse  
The past, far enough to observe  
Every second that passed by since

The quiet day of my birth.

In this bitter cold, with the wind biting  
Our limbs, clutching for us in the dark,  
A star rolled down, alighting  
The sky with a fizzling spark.

The peak of the mountain was then erased  
To the width of a needle tip,  
Our bodies locked in a warm embrace,  
Compressed, so as not to slip.

The universe and our blood pulsating  
In step, made a permanent link.  
We fell asleep, with the night permeating  
Our dreams with its prevalent ink.

### This autumn's different from the rest...

This autumn's different from the rest, - more golden-mouthed -  
I'm charting out my life with zest from north to south.  
The sun's dispersed in orange leaves and cloaked the ground  
I smile to myself as if - I'm lost and found.

The days are growing short, - you'll soon arrive here.  
I wish that you could send a word that you're alright there.  
I think about you at night. Somehow I'm certain,  
If not my speech, then all I write is overheard there.

### Alexandra

Your mother wanted "Alexandra"  
But I prefer the shorter - "Sasha"  
There's such proximity and passion,  
There's something so distinctly Russian  
That's captured in that second "s" -

There's strikes of lightning and thunder,  
There's skies of cobalt, emerald eyes,  
There's willows swaying, butterflies,  
There's music playing, improvised,  
With feelings words cannot express.

Sure, "Alexandra" has its merits -  
There's leather gloves and broken hearts,  
There's dignity and high regards,  
There's history, performing arts,  
And firmness that will not be softened.

There's secrets known to only parents,  
And while the time is passing slow,  
And while we watch the melting snow,  
Though we won't say it, we both know  
That you'll be "Sashen'ka" most often.

### We are still worlds apart...

We are still worlds apart at the moment,  
But already you're playing your part -  
You're my muse and I'm writing this poem  
To the calm metronome of your heart

### Falling stars, on the horizon...

Falling stars, on the horizon,  
Crash and burn...  
One's still shining for the wise men,  
Sasha's born!

Bring your frankincense, and myrrh,  
Bring your gold,  
Bring your open hearts to her,  
Young and old!

When the pain you feel is unbearable,  
When it's pure,  
When your sorrow's incomparable, -  
She's the cure!

In the morning, when the chill  
Shakes your frame,  
She will warm you till you're still -  
She's the flame!

When you come to her, all beaten,  
At a loss,  
She will bring you up to Eden,  
She's the cross!

Let the jealous idols seethe,  
Full of wrath –  
You will trade in your belief  
For her laugh!

In the desserts, where the sands  
Mock the sun,  
Place your world into her hands -  
She's the one!

### Dream

The night collapsed, like a drunk in the street,  
Only the wind wailed, like a dog on a chain.  
I could not feel the pavement under my feet,  
I looked at the passersby with utter disdain.  
There was something in this sinister gloom  
That made you feel dazed and lost in the crowd,  
I opened my jacket, I needed more room, -  
I needed to breathe, but my lungs just gave out.  
I smelled her perfume, before she appeared.  
I tried to decode her mischievous smile.  
Her lips, in slow motion, whispered: Come here.  
I lowered my eyes like a disciplined child.  
The streetlamps were on, but shone rather dimly.  
The weather was cold and I started to fidget.  
The mist seemed to curl, like smoke from a chimney.  
I dared not to move. I stood, frozen rigid.  
The grief in her eyes was a mystical riddle,  
And try as I might, I just couldn't ignore it.  
A black and white photo, - the moment was brittle,  
With nothing to follow, and nothing before it.

### I love you even more for your curves...

I love you even more for your curves,

For that, inside you, you're nursing

Something not quite of this earth,

But rather of galaxies bursting...

You can feel the planets colliding

In your neck, in your back, in your calves...

That's my love swelling up and dividing

Into two even greater halves...

### Analyze the circumstance...

Analyze the circumstance:  
There are far too many  
People offering two cents –  
None are worth a penny!  
Cast their coins in the well  
Let them hit the water...  
Only mom and dad can tell  
How to raise a daughter.  
Take it with a grain of salt,  
Tears are just too precious –  
They'll be diamonds in a vault  
Once you bear the pressure.

### In all the beauty that was revealed to me...

In all the beauty that was revealed to me,  
What I treasured the most  
Was the silence just after the symphony,  
Just before the applause.

As the stage became two-dimensional,  
And the notes ran back to the clef,  
I breathed in the divine, the essential,  
All the while, holding my breath...

### I awaited a letter...

I awaited a letter. You didn't write.  
I had a vision that a train had taken you.  
It sighed once as it vanished from sight.  
You were asleep and it didn't waken you.  
The elastic platform stretched far behind,  
Then, like a leopard, it leapt for the train.  
If you could look back, I'm certain, you'd find  
Nothing remained, but a grimace of pain.

### Dali was wrong...

Dali was wrong – it's not the clocks, but people  
That melt away and shrink under the sun.  
Our best attempts to battle time prove feeble,  
Although we cling, the stubborn hands move on...  
At times, we're forced to hide behind the turn,  
Where running bulls won't sweep our bodies under,  
And watch, through tears, unable to discern  
The beast from man, as limbs are torn asunder.  
But, there's no pain. It's true! Just look around!  
Do not avert your eyes from grime and gore.  
We're only icicles that stretch toward the ground,  
The mesh of flesh is ice and nothing more...

### Creation

I

You didn't believe the first contraction. You needed more proof. Yes, it seemed stronger than any previous. You felt this one somewhere in your lower back, and it grew until the branches of nerves sent signals up through your spine that this Really. Might. Be. It.

Still, you didn't believe the first contraction. You needed more proof.

For most women, it's a welcomed sight. Regular contractions are a prelude to nature taking its course, freeing the woman from nine months of hard labor. In your case, it was Nurture over Nature. You weren't yet willing to let go. Instead, every fiber of muscle tightened in your body in an attempt to keep her inside, if only for another minute and a half, if only for another ten and a half hours.

Constriction. Contraction.  
Ahead, full of steam.  
You're ready to fracture.  
Apart at the seams.  
You're bent over backwards.  
A gymnast in training.  
You grimace. Your back hurts.  
A minute remaining.  
Don't think of the long haul.  
Just seconds. Illusions.  
A walk down a long hall.  
Conviction. Conclusion.

It left you as quickly as it came. Perhaps, this is why you didn't believe it. Reinforcement appeared exactly five minutes later. Suddenly it seemed real.

II

The longest 33 minutes of my life, to that point. The highway was stretched like an elastic and I was scared to blink in case the person holding the other end should let go. Streetlamps flashed by the passenger-side window. Even though it was daytime, somehow, I remember them being yellow. A long-exposure photograph would have turned them into a river of gold. Frozen in time, an observer wouldn't be able to tell if we were going with or against the current. Our minds were on something else entirely.

The number on the screen jumped. They were monitoring her heart rate. I wondered if there was some mathematical formula that could predict the sequence, race the hands of the clock and breaking just a step ahead, inform us of the future, so we could be certain that she was fine.

Somebody tell me what is what,  
In limbo of the holding cell,  
The monitor, in Morse Code,  
Send out the message "All is well."  
It's certain. We are in transition.  
The gripping pains will not abate.  
The baby's dropped and in position, -  
A race horse shaking at the gate.

III

You shook by the door. "I will tell security not to let them in." The door shook and all the insecurities came flooding in, smiling. You were staring in the mirror that reflected the image from the future you dreaded, of the person you were scared to become. Your future reflection was the first to break the staring contest. Right then you knew you had gotten the upper hand. Your younger self looked on, still worried, but proud of your resolve, wondering if she would be able to do the same, when it was her time.

_Her_ time had not come yet, - so we were told.  
Half in a daze, we stepped back in the world,

Where nothing was ended and nothing begun,  
Where we were still two, but fewer by one,

We pondered the numbers of this arithmetic,  
Numbed to the bone by the sun's anesthetic.

You clutched at my arm, as if to keep steady.  
We wanted her now, but she wasn't ready.

IV

I used to wonder if we were ready. To that day, our biggest responsibility was taking care of a dog, and I still wasn't sure where exactly I stood in the hierarchy of the pack. To raise a child would be something all together different. That day, the child raised me. Faced with the inevitability, all doubts were suddenly pushed to the wayside.

The few hours we spent at home were a blur, divided between the yoga ball, the couch and the walks up and down the driveway.

Concession. Confusion.  
A tear and a shiver.  
The sunset of fuchsia  
Still burned through the silver.  
The street was deserted,  
The pavement was black.  
Just then you asserted,  
"It's time to go back."  
Your eyes seemed to issue  
A total submission.  
It suddenly squeezed you.  
Contraction. Constriction.

V

A green icon of the heart blinks on a monitor. The roller-coaster of her heart rate is repeatedly dipping, before slowly ascending into the 130s. Nurses come and go, like waiters working hard to earn their tips, except less courteous. Their tired smiles appear to hang in mid-air, occupying the space even after they exit the room. Few words are spoken. Shockingly few, especially compared to how many go unvoiced. The silence is sometimes such that it makes you feel smothered. Just as I'm thinking this, her heart rate plummets.

Contractions get closer,  
no time for rest.  
The roller-coaster  
hugs the rail  
at the peak of the crest,  
breaks fail,  
all hell breaks loose.  
Arms start to flail  
and there's no time to lose.  
In distress,  
nurses assail.  
Inhale  
deep into your chest.  
Hold it as long as you're able.  
Stable. Stable. Stable.  
She's frail  
and stable, at best.

VI

You're 7 cm. It's show-time. They wheel you away.

They break your water. It's funny to think of water _breaking_. I have an image of a vase, cracking. Veins running up its lateral surface, until it shatters. Fragments of water are left on the floor, with sharp, jagged edges. It did, in fact, shatter. All of the air was suddenly sucked out of the room. When the nurse says "Shit," you tune in and listen.

"She's breeched," she screeched.

As if everything we've been through already wasn't enough. You've spent all your strength on fighting off the epidural, hoping for natural birth, you've saved nothing for the spinal.

Longest 33 min of my life.

Not just you, - we were both giving birth!  
I could feel every twinge, every seizure  
And the pain at the end of each nerve,  
Barely touched by the slow anesthesia.

We were both laid out on the gurney,  
Like two clouds, in garments of white –  
And those eyes, in the light, looking sternly,  
And our own looking up through the light.

Remember? - You don't, in the slightest, -  
The incision, the blade, and the cold,  
When they searched for the child inside us,  
As though miners looking for gold.

How we started to pray for atonement,  
When it seemed there was nothing else left,  
How we both held our breath for a moment,  
Till the moment she let out a breath.

How our hands clenched into each other,  
Then let go, as we spun in a whirl!  
How I went from a son to a father, -  
You – from being to having - a girl.

VII

The first time they put her in my hands, it felt like she was pulling me up. If you had twins, I'm certain I would have been lifted out of the chair, with my feet dangling above the floor. As it was, I soared. I saw you whirling next to me.

I won't forget those eyes, filled to the brim and spilling over. I am branded with them. I wake up to them every morning. Before I even open my own.

Convulsion. Compassion.  
Congestion. Commotion.  
The tears on your lashes  
blown out of proportions.  
Absorbing and swelling  
amidst all the noise,  
they're quietly telling  
the words left unvoiced.  
Their pull will deplete me.  
All pain and elation  
are captured completely.  
Conception. Creation.

### You – on my chest...

You - on my chest, as if  
We couldn't get any nearer.  
Interest and disbelief,  
As if it's myself in the mirror,  
As if, detached from myself  
And moving without permission,  
I'm arching my back to delve  
Into all that comes into vision,  
As if, between us, the bend  
Of space-time became distorted,  
Our features began to blend  
And decades became disordered,  
Ecstasy mixed with grief –  
How did I live without  
You? You - on my chest, as if  
I'm on your chest, sprawled out.

### Occupy Wall Street

Are you a rebel with a cause

Or a martyr on the cross,

On the cross-roads crucified

With your Lucy in the sky

Or perhaps just Mary Jane,

Good enough to ease the pain?

Is your sweetheart by your side,

Stripped of everything, but pride?

Did she choose to step away

Or to taste the pepper spray?

Did she hear the sirens clear,

When the cops, in riot gear,

Rushed against your signs of peace

As though animals released

From the very prison cell

That will soon be your hotel?

Do you feel betrayed by college?

Your investments into knowledge?

Your pursuit of the degree

Which, (of course, we can agree)

Took away the precious time

From the unemployment line?

Do you feel betrayed by parents?

Did they make it seem apparent

That the force of will pays off

If you do not take days off?

Were they lying through their teeth,

Or living life in make-believe?

Do you feel betrayed by teachers?

By your shrink and by your preacher?

By your governor, your mayor?

By your mystical soothsayer?

All of them have made careers

Of feeding bullshit to your ears.

Do you feel betrayed by friends,

Who are sitting on the fence,

In a home, with central heat,

While you're freezing on the street?

Are the ninety-nine percent,

Sleeping soundly, content?

Though you may be in the dark,

Nonetheless, you chose the park,

Where the color green is pure,

And contains much more allure.

You have proudly made your pick

Not to be another brick

In the Wall Street dissolution.

We commend your resolution.

### To the Muse

I can't decipher the torrent  
Of verses when they start surging  
I find your dialect foreign  
As if I appeared in church and  
The priest speaks at the podium  
In sign language, fingers flailing –  
Someone turned off the audio  
And all communication is failing.  
The priest is reciting your psalms,  
Offering me to break bread.  
I can't even read your palms, -  
Your palms are still bloody red.  
Say something! A couple of words!  
This silence is too grotesque.  
I feel like I'm breaking codes,  
And breaking apart at my desk.

### Though often alone and happy...

Though often alone and happy,

At times, I'm lonely and stressed –

Come sit beside me and wrap me

Into your tenderness.

When my dejection is dormant,

Don't wait for me to regress.

Protect me before I'm cornered, -

Life is a game of chess.

We all have our sets of issues

And mine are a tangled mess,

At times, I can be capricious -

But pity me nonetheless!

And when the sunset bleeds fuchsia

And beauty is hard to digest,

Pity me for the future –

For losing what I possessed,

For menacing clouds above me,

My poems, and lack of rest,

Pity because you love me

For all that I can't express...

### On my skin...

On my skin, you discover the comfort  
That you last felt when you were inside.  
A balloon that is pulling me upward,  
You are rocking my arms side to side.  
As your body lets go of the spirit,  
It becomes much more buoyant in air,  
Flowing smoothly, with nothing to steer it,  
With the breeze and without a care.  
Eyes were drooping, mid-dream.  
Arms were dropping, mid-stream,  
Where the leaves of the maples frame  
Your slumbering weightless frame.

### Before you...

Before you, I had one body  
And inside, one heartbeat thrived,  
Then this body met somebody -  
Winter left, and you arrived.  
Time, in turn, became unstable,  
All the clocks beat out of sync.  
Now, looking at a Newton's cradle,  
I perceive a playground swing.

### Before the world...

Before the world, there was a word –  
A foreword. Moving forward,  
Out of the word, He made a world.  
He spoke, and then He lowered  
His voice, too tired to uphold  
The complex world He fashioned  
Out of a simple spoken word -  
Such love, such agony, such passion!

### I love you most...

I love you most when I can't fall asleep  
And you are sleeping. I'm compelled to wake you.  
You seem so fragile, that I'm scared to break you,  
Until I'm certain that you've fallen deep.  
I dare to kiss you then, convincingly enough  
So as to wake a soundly sleeping infant,  
Yet, soothingly enough, so in that instant,  
Your dreams would go uninterrupted, love.

### Emptiness in the crib...

Emptiness in the crib, bedroom door – ajar.  
The bedding is warm, her scent retaining.  
On the couch, forlorn, is a lone guitar,  
Books - on the floor, and outside – it's raining.  
Emptiness in the house, body frame shakes.  
Silence reigns sovereign. The faucet, dripping,  
With the regular calm of a metronome, breaks  
Time into segments that are quietly slipping  
Through my fingers. Hollowness - in my chest.  
Gone is the bell, though the echoes follow  
In my temples, resounding with distress.  
In my throat - your absence is hard to swallow.

### Your hands are steady...

Your hands are steady, it's the bridge that's shaking.  
A step to hypothermia, two to incoming traffic.  
It's already late and the landscape's breath-taking -  
Monochrome, through the lens of your photographic  
Memory. Deconstructing pain to its pixel details -  
A grain of salt that stretches and clings to your chin...  
The incoming headlights blind you, and then unveil  
A little more of the scar, a little less of the skin -  
A fine balance. You could have been on a tight-rope,  
A speck between towers, with the sky to traverse.  
An impossible act, if not for the slight hope  
That, in the desperate moment, luck was still yours  
For the taking. For some, there's solace in rain,  
As it drowns the murmuring, splintering heart,  
But you're taking it in, for if it wasn't for pain,  
What would bring tears, where would love start?

### Much too much has been said...

Much too much has been said, it's a sorrowful story,  
And a joyful ending is too much to feign,  
I wanted no more than for you to restore me,  
Paint over my pain

When the morning light comes it's too pale to heal me,  
And grief's slender fingers pick the guitar,  
I wanted no more than for you to conceal me  
Like a scarf on a scar

### Learn from toddlers...

Learn from toddlers - chew - for flavor -  
Books - for comfort. When your gums  
Open, splitting, try to savor  
Sentences like final crumbs  
When you're starving. When you're craving  
All the safety of the crib,  
And your stomach walls are caving  
In and up against your ribs,  
When your tears well up and swelling  
Eyelids - saturated - burst,  
When your pain is too compelling,  
Sink your teeth deep into verse.  
When you're lonely, when your lover  
Fails to satisfy your need,  
Don't go searching for another, -  
Learn from toddlers how to read.

### Emptied sky

Emptied sky -  
Your eyes of blue -  
Milked it dry,  
Soaking through.

Opalescent  
Colors blaze  
Omnipresent  
Is their gaze!

All devouring -  
Wring them out! -  
Overpowering  
Is their knout!

It's genetic -  
How they flare! -  
So poetic  
Is their stare!

Oh, be merciful, -  
Heavy freight! -  
Irreversible  
Is their fate!

### Life's a game...

Life's a game and she leaves it to chance,

Floats along, dressed in black in July,

Sees the world through her camera lens,

And she watches it quickly pass by.

She was pushed into math, into science,

By her parents, by money, by class,

Till she learned to abhor all compliance,

And refused to succumb to the mass.

Now, she crops all her photographs short

So the focus falls right on the frame,

In this way, she partitions the world

Into cages where time can be tamed.

She takes stills of wind-ruffled birches,

Blinks in sync along with the shutter,

She makes prints in which order emerges

From her personal life, full of clutter.

Just a click, it's so instant and painless,

And she's gone without leaving a trace,

Blending into the pixels of grayness,

Like her subjects, who've fallen from grace.

# About the Author

A ndrey Kneller was born and grew up in Moscow, Russia. In 1993, when he was ten, his family immigrated to United States. He started writing and translating poetry from Russian into English soon after. His work has appeared in a number of literary magazines and journals, including National Forum, Gentle Reader, Unlikely Stories, and the Hypertexts. He has also published several books of poetry translations, including the works of Vladimir Mayakovsky, Boris Pasternak, Anna Akhmatova, Marina Tsvetaeva, and Alexander Pushkin. Andrey currently lives with his wife in Ashland, MA and teaches high school mathematics.
Thank you for taking the time to read my work.

My hope is that this book will lead you to explore my other books of Russian poetry translations. For a full-list of my books, see the following page.

If you enjoyed my work and have a moment to spare, I would really appreciate a short review. Your help in spreading the word is gratefully received.

Also, I would like to invite you to visit my new website dedicated to Russian poetry translations: Discernible Sound. As always don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and/or comments.

Sincerely,

Andrey Kneller

Also by Andrey Kneller:

Wondrous Moment: Selected Poetry of Alexander Pushkin

Evening: Poetry of Anna Akhmatova

Rosary: Poetry of Anna Akhmatova

White Flock: Poetry of Anna Akhmatova

Final Meeting: Selected Poetry of Anna Akhmatova

My Poems: Selected Poetry of Marina Tsvetaeva

Backbone Flute: Selected Poetry of Vladimir Mayakovsky

February: Selected Poetry of Boris Pasternak

Unfinished Flight: Selected Poetry of Vladimir Vysotsky

O, Time...: Selected Poetry of Victoria Roshe

Discernible Sound: Selected Poetry

The Stranger: Selected Poetry of Alexander Blok

