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Just like a deathly ill man rises from his bed To see the dawn and sunrise one last time So rose that morning with its morbid light, Rather an eerie glow from fevered stagnant clouds. The day is Twentieth of March; the Equinox. Long gone are snows from dusty streets and alleys, Instead they're overwhelmed by a depleted palette Of the unvaried brown and grey. And like Dry leaves and litter in the wind, The people are drifting aimlessly around With their faces out blank. Just once I've seen the curdled scream in someone's eyes. The air is thick with the exhausted expectations, Uneasiness and grief, but fear is all but gone: We have been waiting for so long That terror has mutated into longing. And echoed from the many hundred walls, A dismayed voice from speakers on the poles Recites like some kind of a bitter prayer The words that all of us have learnt by heart: "The book of days is finished, and the epilogue is nigh, And we shall see its last words soon Transcribed across the skies..." "The equinox arrived", will read the ending line. One final irony - so grim. And so divine...

By the midday A chilly breeze Came from the sea. And somehow Did I know it was Inviting me To come. A narrow path 'Twixt the watchful rocks To a secluded cove. Dried out kelp On the pebbles; Still waters - A luminous mirror. It had lil' to reflect, However, only The mercury skies, And a few birds up there. A seagull descended And perched on A large boulder Right next to me. She looked anxious, And feared, and uneasy; As though she could know, What was coming our way. ‘Does she really know? Is it really close?’ Streams of shivers go down my spine. Then the bird had soared From that salty stone, And soon wisped away from sight. Could she really know? Is it really close? One may fancy he is prepared, But the animal terror's still there When you find out there’s no time Left at all. And I stared at the mosaic of clouds Morphing subtly and slowly so That the motion could barely be seen. Then the pallid white sun had emerged, From the thin milky mist; for a second It went almost unbearably bright Then it simply... dispersed. And the darkness fell fast.

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The city lived... As though denying anything had happened As though there hadn’t been any change And in the streets The people kept performing their routines As if they still made any sense Somebody fixed the windows and doors As if they could stand the incoming frost Another brought out his items to sell, As if the coin would matter anymore An old tramp kept on rummaging In a garbage pile near the marketplace Some young people were fighting so savagely As if a winner would have more time to stay Alive... Yet the cold wind grew colder. The city lived... Some eerie glow had enshrouded the skies And no one knew nor asked another what it was And in the streets We simply kept on clinging to the things We got used to throughout our lives Somebody fixed the windows and doors As if they could stand the perpetual frost Another brought out his books to sell, As if their wisdom still matter'd anymore An old priest kept on summoning The believers to pray their despair away Reporters swooped down on the passers-by... Maybe burning newspapers will help us to stay Alive - Just a little bit longer...

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The streetlamps suddenly start blinking - all at once. A muffled rumble rolls below the surface, And heads of anxious passers-by have turned. Then comes a bright flash in the distance, and a sound As if somebody kicks the tinplate sheet. The startled people 'round me start running. Another wham; and then a foul cacophony Is surging, taking over gloomy streets, As sounds of gun bursts leave no room for doubt. Then comes a deaf'ning screech from loudspeakers, And a reedy voice starts shouting and screaming; Of all his slurring I've discerned too little, Just "Here we are!" and "Kill!" They come! The blank-eye broods are all upon our waning world! They come! By false philosophers unleashed, to feast on gore. For long they fed and multiplied on myths and rot, Yet to reveal themselves they dared not. But now they are here to requite for all those "eons" They'd been "oppressed" into remaining human beings. They come with vengeance, come to burn and slay. The Sun is dead. God looks some other way. Marauding hordes have swept throughout the city, Followed by perfect columns of stormtroopers marching: Black banners with gold arrows in the middle. And there is only one voice keeps on screeching: The slurring shout'r dominates the roar and blare, Delivering to the troops his twisted preachings - And sending them upon a killing spree. They come! The faceless broods are all upon our waning world! They come! By false philosophers unleashed, to feast on gore. For long they fed and multiplied on myths and rot, Yet to reveal themselves they dared not. But now they are here to requite for all those "eons" They'd been "oppressed" into remaining human beings. They come with vengeance, come to burn and slay. The Sun is dead. God looks some other way. I ran across the backyards and back-alleys, Barely evading them, but when I reached my place I only saw the towering wall of flames With everyone I'd cared about beyond my aid. And two black troopers with familiar faces Emerged out of nowhere. Their malicious smiles Made their intent too clear... But when they Both racked their slides, a flaming timber fell down Separating us. And then I turned away and fled.

As terror wears off, my vision is no longer marred But there's not much to see around, just trees in darkness Those countless towering trunks and spreading canopies - Like hands raised up in silent plea for mercy, For help that won't come... ...And dreary is The clouds' colourplay: The fiery shades Mark clearly the place where my home city stood. But still the larger part of skies is occupied by eerie Grey-greenish glow. As if above The thick of clouds the northern lights have built Their glorious, yet windy bridge between horizons... How many others have escaped as well? Stampeded animals that have preferred the freezing death Over the fiery one, how many runners out there Are trying hard to get away from fire Still knowing this night never ends? I wonder if they Are tortured by their guilt, as I am now: For failing to protect, for running from the decisive fight; I've never learnt To stand my ground... And the ground beneath my feet Would always turn out a quicksand or a mire, Where every step is turning bad to worse. But everything is going to be hardened By the forthcoming frost. And for as long as I can feel my legs I must be moving...

Winds blows into my back And it's the only thing That helps me to maintain direction Between the whispering trees The spring night's chill has clawed Its way inside my bones I guess it's there to stay... But still I go Without fatigue, as if my body has abandoned All of its hampering demands. And something happened to my eyes: As if that ghostly luminescence high above Has suddenly descended, permeating Right everything around; I can clearly see The yesteryear foliage goes aglow, And trees become translucent wondrously: Is this... Amazement that I'm feeling now? And when the heavy snow comes to be, It seems that each snowflake gleams dazzlingly... Oh miracle... Oh rapture that it brings: My feet don't seem to touch the ground any longer, One with the wind - like an unbound spirit, I feel I could be soaring beyond The tallest trees, and hills, and tooth-sharp ridges, Up through the clouds - towards the pristine blackness With myriad gems there. From the stars we came - To them we are returning... Yet for now It's just a bout of my morbid fantasies...

And still the trees around me are real, So are the blizzard and that ghostly glow Which takes the Heaven over. And the ground-cover Is crisping quietly as I keep moving on. ...So many years lost to an idle expectation, Like a passenger in a crowded railway station, Who waits for his train so long overdue. And people came along and went away, And trains were thund'ring by... The one I needed Had never showed up. Or I had missed it. As it is all too late for any train to pass, There is so little left for me to do... Traversing blizzard's wreaths towards nowhere Throughout this Night of Nights, I only feel Serenity and joy: the waiting's over, At long last I am going home. From darkness we have come, And there shall we return.

It was a staggering surprise to me To glimpse a small bonfire twixt the trees. I was so unprepared to see Another human face And suddenly I felt a burden dire; I wished I'd drop down now and expire Instead of coming closer to that fire, But I moved forward anyway. And as I stepped into that clearing By fire I saw an old man weary, He said no word, but I had a feeling That I was welcome here too. He simply kept on standing, leaning On his long staff, and stared serenely Into the flames, just as though reading Some long-familiar book.

'Come closer,' he said finally, 'And have your rest', This offer I've accepted gratefully. 'You must be coming from the city? Can you tell me, What happened there?' - 'A bloody mayhem,' I replied. 'Possessed barbarians are having their night'. The old man nodded in acknowledgement. I asked, If anybody has been passing here before? 'A few,' he said. 'But none of them have told me, What they've been running from, yet none have stayed for long. Apparently they've made their choice'. 'There is Not many choices left,' I said. The old man shrugged: 'Perhaps there's never had been any choice, And every step we make has been pre-written, But just as far as it's a subject of beliefs, I'm choosing to believe that there are lots of options, And none is terminal.' His words have stirred Inside me something strange and very wrong. The twisty shades cast by the fire upon the trees Invoked a rush of my own dreary memories - About the choices I have made mistakenly, About the errors I could never fix, As they've been turning terminal perpetually, About my cowardice, and treacheries committed, That I have failed to atone for or repent. And hate... They all are constantly with me, Like silent witnesses those stand around a pit, Wherein a sole fighter his own self is tryin' to beat... And as though echoing my thoughts the old man asks: 'Are those the things that you just won't shed? Are they the burden that you treasure dearly so?' Did I speak this aloud, I asked. He said, ''Tis of no matter, if you did or not. What matters is the things you've brought along, And how much of them you are composed.' I failed to answer, 'cause I didn't know, If there's a difference between me and my past. He said: 'Our delusions tend to outlast Ourselves, but when they're taking over Sometimes the symbols come to our aid. Behold...' He turned and pointed at a strange Construction: two forked poles united with A crossbar - like a doorway... But beyond There was a freezing forest, nothing more. Or something else? - 'It's up to you', the old man said. In indecision I've been tarrying for a while, But if I pass there - what do I have to lose? I'd eagerly let go those woes… 'Allow me to stay here for a moment,' I said. 'Perhaps this fire and its warmth Is what I'll never going to see or feel again'. The old man nodded, and then threw some brushwood Into the flame. As soon as it had burnt, I stood up and approached that 'doorway'. 'Farewell', I said. 'And thank you. One more thing I'd like to know - your name.' 'It doesn't matter, Besides, in fact you know yourself', he said. I bowed before the old man, turned away, Closed my eyes tight, and stepped into the doorway. And silence fell upon me in a trice...

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…I have no words in store those could describe The grace and horrors I have witnessed then. We only can imagine things we've known Before, at least in part, and there's no way I could have veritably my ordeals relayed. ...Afree at last from clutching maelstroms, I woke up lying faceup, in a deep ravine, And there was stillness all around me - and within. Through branches weaving densely up above, I saw a starscape in the clear sky: Its colour set my heart a-tremble. Overpowering Severe pain in all my joints, I rose, And started climbing up the bushy slope, Which turned out way far higher than expected. And when I've fin'lly reached the top, I had at first To power through the thick of an overgrowth Although my arms were weary and aching… The underwood went suddenly apart, Exposing horizon's dazzling glare, And moments later, in a tearful awe, I watched how in tremendous majesty untold, The new-born Sun was rising, to embrace The wayward Earth with its life-giving grace.

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