2018.10.02.
November
What do I have left of those months, days, minutes,
Those that made up a year and sank like a heavy rock.
That which keeps calling me, like the call of the void,
That which will never heal, that which can't be returned.
People talk of you day and night, but I don't understand.
I live on the Boulevard of 100 Years of November, you - in the moments of May,
But what do you know, girl, of your bronze soap bubbles?
They will not pop, will not vanish...
The last leaf has flown far away.
Do you remember what we used to dream of?
We're a bit different now - it's like we've understood something.
The weather these days, I swear - I don't want to do anything.
I feel like this November won't ever end...
Our tracks have suddenly stopped - we'd moved in the wrong direction.
The pieces were slightly unmatched, we'd followed the wrong steps,
We walked without fear of stumbling, falling and being late,
And what has been left of us? Our star whose light had gone out...
After all, there's no way to be lucky for long when you ride the wrong way,
Autumn shuffles yellow letters under my feet, the wind touches my shoulder,
This copper grandma has been knitting a sock for an eternity already,
You ask, 'for whom?' - I cannot answer...
2018.10.02.
It is only autumn
There's times when everything just freezes, and there is no movement,
No sound, no nothing, except a wish to disappear for three months.
All you can hear in the deafening, echoing silence
Is grandma's slippers rustling, rustling on the staircase.
But it is time, not grandma, that is going, slowly going and leaving,
And out the window, cars slide nimbly through the streets.
And it no longer feels like it's the weather that's completely ruined,
It feels like yesterday we all had been murdered in the basement.
But it is only autumn taking its share,
It is only autumn, summing things up,
It is only autumn, singing to us about how nothing is as it was.
It is only autumn, spreading around,
It is only autumn, it's everywhere now,
It is only autumn, which means it's scary to leave the room.
Sometimes you really want to know what was there on that overexposed film,
Or to compare what they show you in the mirror to your passport photo.
This morning it was noticed by the annoyed and sleepy me
How suddenly a sparrow flew up and vanished, dissolving in the cloudy sky.
But it is time, not the sparrow, that is flying, forever flying away,
Leaving us but with moments, infinitesimal points.
And it no longer feels like it is easy to forget,
It feels like we'd been found in a dumpster by the piece.
But it is only autumn – the end to it all,
It is only autumn – counting what's hatched,*
It is only autumn, and that's why one's joints hurt.
It is only autumn in eyes and ears,
It is only autumn, you know it well
It is only autumn choking us slowly with its yellow scarf...