Svetlana Potyagailo
Novgorod, Russia
len@potiag.telecom.nov.ru
* * *
1
There's a silence encroached upon us,
my own silence encroached upon me,
and I can't sleep until it's there,
its shapeless fingers touching me.
it makes my room an empty chamber,
but voices in another room
are growing deeper, deeper,
and fading
into the darkness
but nobody's in pursuit.
2
I had to go out and die
of an evening
with no thoughts
I was quite undone
no rain in the drizzling window
no even feelings
3
silence fills up my life
the old thoughts are done for
old games put off for a little while
rescued me -- she will
if she has that chance
but in the meanwhile the lamp's
gone out and place
seems to be a fruitcellar
with a skeleton of a mother
hidden
some place
4
I know why you don't call me, pal.
You're at home, unable to pick up the phone.
It's boring and lonesome, honey,
And you can't stand thinking of the world,
at which you're looking incessantly
from behind the yellow certain.
Maybe, the music is on, maybe, you can't turn it on -
you feel so lonely -
you can't break the magic circle,
the magic ring solitaire -
transparent bubble of silence,
dumb and iridescent, unpoppable soapy bubble.