Читать книгу Sunday Hindsight Diaries - - Страница 3

a dull, murky evening

and the western wind

is shaking the fir tree branches.

your shoulders you’re wrapping,

no sun – only candles,

a lantern light that is tarnished.

the cold of the manor,

the foretoken’s banner

clenches my shivering chest.

who’s wandering by night?

what’s happening here right?

is here where my path is best?

never-the-loneliness,

nevertheless.

i can still see myself in that white dress,

sun in the mirrors with rainbows in sand,

silently telling me it will not end.

blueprints of sky on my permanent walls,

milk-dipped silk edges of cloudy crème rose,

roughness and tightness of arms around me,

silently telling i’ll never be free.

counting the hours and reading the lips,

fighting your demons with my false beliefs,

perching the window to see that, out there

no one can actually understand? care?

salty in solitude, waves crawl aside.

going away, you think i wouldn’t mind

stopping you? leaving you? living alone?

isn’t it late to return what i own?

coastline is softened by dimmed lilac haze,

all through my head – your indifferent gaze.

resting my soul in the sea – i’m a mess.

never-the-loneliness,

nevertheless.

in the memory of jim morrison, the lead singer of the doors

he hypnotised crowds with a flick of the wrist,

created the art just by moving his lips.

and, vividly dreaming, he poured out his song

to tremble, to hope and to whisper along.

his infinite star shone above from the stage,

he wasn’t afraid of appearing strange.

though somebody claimed of him being moonstruck,

it wasn’t in his style to give it a fuck.

he was like a lightning. a flash – and he’s gone.

a seeker, a poet, who rode on the storm.

and history doesn’t forget all the vows

of beads, lizard kings and soft tambourine sounds.

and through the nightshades of paris

a caravan carried the pain.

he closed the doors of perception

behind him when he went away.

in honour of the 41^st anniversary of

«the wall» by pink floyd

deserted bedrooms. a silent hall.

darkness. short beeps. a telephone call.

now it is you who is always not home.

you’re mourning. you’re weeping

behind the wall.

you’re crawling and creeping through fears and tears.

you’re bleeding, receding; the blood you smear

on bricks will deliver your dream to those,

who’ll stand on the ruins of virgin walls.

you shiver and quiver from deadly cold.

the crumbs you are picking once made up your world.

your past on the left, your thoughts on the right.

from hell – to heaven, from darkness – to light.

you nourish your pain with a rapture of mad.

because every coat, every line, brick – it had

a story, so pure in its manic dismay.

too frightened to leave and too tired to stay.

you take a deep breath and look over your life:

your father, your mother, your band and your wife.

now it doesn’t matter, cause you are alone.

and fortune is telling you:

«bring down the wall!»

to kill all you love is most frequently

the only known way to be free.

come right to me, relieve my pain, don’t let me go.

refine my shrine and watch it burn, in sorrow known.

humiliate, humidify, relapsing «why?»,

retire tears, collect your things and leave behind.

heal up my soul, demolish yours, we are aware:

you never ask, i never tell that i still care.

your tender step i will confirm beside my door.

my sunshine, please don’t hurt me anymore.

as the veins of the city give up on their blood,

the horizon is scarlet with pudent desire,

we are breathing with verve and unholy of love

to commit an atonement in fire.

we all know how the vices and virtues are born,

let the beautiful sins still caress our delusions.

doing things that you want you are never alone,

but forever alone in conclusion.

does the chastity matter? please, kill it in me.

raise a toast to delight when we start to decay.

comfort me, fall for me, pervert me, bury me.

we will burn anyway,

we will burn anyway.

i want you to know me

like no one before you,

see something behind what i choose to expose.

learn my secret language

and write me a message,

cause nobody else ever gets our jokes.

ineffable silence

and talking in glances,

we’re driving home singing my favourite song.

the way you look holding

my hand is so cozy,

i’d never stop dreaming of you all night long.

you will be my best friend

no matter the weather,

it’s like you have been here for my whole life.

you want me to know you

like no one before me,

it’s more than an honour to know what it’s like.

and even if i never touch your lips,

this love will remain as a wreckage of glory,

so blinding and pure that nobody before me

deserves to exist in your own memories.

when the mornings grew cold

and the leaves turned to gold

every day i recalled breathing free.

will the start of the fall be as cruel as all,

will the summer end beautifully?

will it come corner-sweeping

pain and leave me to weeping?

will it bless me with horrible sins?

will it give me a clue to know what i should do,

will i live when the autumn begins?

i find myself on the kitchen floor, on the bathroom tiles, speaking out the pain,

i squeeze my hand on the lifeless blade, begging you to call till it’s not too late.

if i play things right, will you love me back? will you drag me out of this long nightmare?

it just seems to be: only ending me can put all of this shit to an end.

blessed be the rain, and the way we ran

through the crowds to the scarborough fair.

dancing in the fires, drunk and seeing stars,

no one could put our love to an end.

blessed be the times, lying in your arms,

i forgot i was mortally cursed.

as if cherry pies would’ve cured my lies,

but they only made agony worse.

no one could control my disastrous soul,

and i’m sorry i’d wound you this hard.

blessed be the day that you held my hand

or the night that had torn us apart.

i wish i could pick up the keys to your heart

and stay inside where i belong.

i can’t allow to get them wrong, that’s why i take my time.

i’ll know the right ones when i find among the counterfeit

the shiny plainly reading sign «exactly what you need».

and when you play a song i like, i’ll feel it all kickstart,

the bridge comes in, we both begin:

«this is my favourite part!»

i find my peace in frozen leaves, lakes, haunted by the drowned.

i feel you breathe beneath the trees, die, as you touch the ground.

the evanescence of your step lures to repeat your path,

there’s no obstruction between us, except for life and death.

i whisper vows for winds to catch, i’m barely moving lips.

i tread the lake until ice breaks, and there i find my peace.

holiday spirits, festive wishes,

cold breaths, church bells, granny’s tales, woollen mittens,

gift wrappers, skate blades, cheering, christmas tree lights,

iced cookies, champagne, carols, snow, sleepless nights,

mistletoe kisses, spruce wreaths, candlelight,

yuletide, advent, candy, childish delight.

the hour of wonders and family fights.

of course it’s not christmas till somebody cries.

if you asked me what happiness is, i would spare time to answer.

i would go for a walk to a song that reminds me of life-changing summers.

i would write down the things that have taken my breath for a while

and the people to whom i hope never to say a goodbye.

we were destined to live here without asking for our consent.

we are doomed to misstep, to regret, to amend.

when the lunacy of existence starts flooding my thoughts

there is always a thread i fold close to my heart and hold on.

it is lovingly weaved out of different scenes you can capture:

out of window views and daydreams in the middle of boring lectures,

hugging someone so tight that their heartbeat vibrates inside you,

knowing someone so well that it actually terrifies you.

running into infinity through fields not confined in horizons,

bursting into laughter till feeling like coughing your lungs out,

dancing with careless freedom of any prejudice or contempt.

telling somebody you love them, dead sure that you meant it.

staying up to watch the sky turning golden, then finally going to sleep.

pathetically bawling cause this exact moment will never repeat.

making wishes on shooting stars, magic numbers and dandelions.

wanting something so desperately you start to believe in signs.

breaking the rules, because you are fully entitled to it.

never needing approval to make you valuable and complete.

looking at the world from the hills, as if it’s in your hands.

happiness is when it doesn’t matter that everything ends.

before our vanity dies in vain

i’ll carve my refrain in every vein,

i’ll place your ill heart into a frame,

my vengenerosity bears your name.

maybe i managed to kill my past,

it was kinda brutal, stabbing my beliefs.

look at me now, i am stained with blood.

don’t tell me time heals, it is no remedy.

maybe i know how to cover up scars,

how to fake smiles so that nobody sees.

i’m always cut open inside of my heart

and pain keeps reminding me i still exist.

i really tried fighting the demons away,