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BIRTH OF MY SON

 

Remembering the latest day in April...

My breath was stopped by sky – just upside down.

All light bulbs were in me already burning,

As if the traffic lights of native town.

 

 

My prisoner-son, on the verge of freedom

You rushed into the world: old age and youth,

Where sharps and flats entangled, warmth and freezing,

Delight and horror, lie and truth...

 

How could I keep my memory - the midwife?

Oh, maybe by a green hem of new grass?

In holy name of Son and Holy spirit

The rain was hitting into window glass...

 

And morning came. It gave me gift another

the luxury of blissful hopeful dawn.

My breath is spacious... Both - son and mother -

We're at this endless instant being born...

 

   * * *

 

The memorial service for winter passed.

We all accompanied its last mournful journey.

And snow followed us in spite of the forecast:

Homeless heir, not legal – too late for sorry

Snowflakes flied beneath the spring warm sky,

sliding from slippery streched branches.

Snow knows, that it's necesary to die

quickly, that's why it so hurries..

 

  * * *

 

 I didn't seduce men and never smoked,

on holidays I drink a glass of Bols...

I'm so perfect as the wonk's notes

And therefore inexorably I'm bored.

At 10 o'clock PM – me: not a sound!

For sure, my heart is under lock and key.

I'm slightly stooping, highly short-sighted,

two sons and... skinny wallet (hell with it!)

My life is good - oh, really not weak!

I live like everyone: kids, work and flat.

Which crack through you have however leaked,

my restless, sweetest Love, my fate?

Where from you flew like tempest, like a squall?

The world was quiet and windless until now...

As though all my life I played just scales

And suddenly – Bach came. Fugue in d-moll.