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Vosmoy
-
Borsch
i dip my fingers deep into boiling
soup just to feel little pain of existence
seal of the being
i cut my skin and saw little drops falling
into the water swarmed with the pieces
of spiritless fetus
i saw that brew reddened
hot deep swirl
caught my infantile eye
drew me in
i forgot all that i was
i looked at the cross on the top of the valley
mirage of mirror
in the middle of barrens were hundreds of men
singing the verses
i saw the blooming tree where i was hanging
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dead and suspicious hooked like a carcass
wrapped in a velvet
red was a color
crowd have been shouting
louder and louder and louder
deafening clamor
of internal voices
now they were telling me all that- so the feast begins
all that i am
glimpse of the hollow
self reflected
red is true color
true cognation
Soup in my head
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