Dream

Sometimes visions come in poetic form.

Shivered the silk in the window with light,
As if a breeze had flown through the night.
As if a wing softly brushed through the air,
As if it landed with ease on a chair.
As if its gaze slid along through the room,
And then it turned, bringing silence and gloom.
- Who are you? - asked I, with breath held inside.
- Just a stray soul, with no place to abide.
I only flew in and now I observe...
- Well, take your time while I smoke and conserve.

Blue spirals rose as the smoke curled on high,
And for some reason, I wanted to cry.
And for some reason, I longed for the skies,
Murmured some verses with tears in my eyes.
To shine like a crystal and laugh through it all—
But still, for some reason, I pitied my soul...

(Translated from Russian by Rene Maori.)