Unlike some of our friends, that often are around
Just to be sure that the life they have
Is better then your own,
Pets never lie.
A cat is a special pet.
Unlike most dogs that show their devotion
No matter that some people treat them bad,
A cat would never trust its master if just once
It was abused. A cat responses to love,
And if your cat approaches you when some sadness
Descends on your soul for a while
Be sure, life is not so bad. A cat
Would never come to soothe a vicious master,
But only purest souls that are loved by God
Would find the love of cats.

***

This world is not about space,
Space we control,
Through space we stroll,
And fly, and run, we even take our toll
By building dams and laying ways
That take us faster through the space
And help us feel like gods,
At least like conquerors of Earth,
On which we're planting gardens,
Like God himself once had it done,
The gardens full of flowers.
But there is something in this world
Of which we better not think much
Like of the things that lay beyond
Our mortal human touch.
It's time that nonchalantly flows
Cry out as we may,
We can not change its current.
Once, one happy magic day,
We found ourselves in it.
That was our birth and since then on,
We travel with the time
That draws us along the shores
Of life that's so divine.
The day of death perforce will come
And, as our Bibles say,
It should be better then the day
That brought us on the way
Of time that, frankly, can oppress
Us all with its lugubrious woe,
As long as we, like gods, that's true,
Can comprehend its flow.

***

What is the big idea - to spend some time on roofs?
Who can afford that? Goofs can only think of it.
But, let us be frank, are not we all so crazy, within ourselves?
Just for a little bit? We live, we work our jobs,
We play our roles of decent men and women,
That follow moral, follow common sense,
Romance is not our purpose. Wait, Romance?
You understood me wrong.
Not to "romance" I draw your attention inviting you
To take a look at roofs, but to romantic moods
That come to us so easy when relaxing
Under the sky, above the noisy life,
Forgetting rules, sedated and at ease
We breath fresh air, feel the impish breeze
And dream the dreams, we, mortals, surely, dare
To dream of breathing spell we, busybodies, miss.

* * *

Poems, visions, fancy sketches,
Tales, unfinished romances,
Rhapsodizing on the love
That had never been revealed,
Never had been hinted at in reality
And only on the paper
White and clean was expressed
In kindling passion…
On the bottom of her chest
All those pages lay in rest.

* * *

The hot and stuffy day is gone
The tiny yellow stroke of the new Moon
Appeared in the sky.
The wind has ceased to blow
And lonely nightingale
Is singing in the woods.
Step stones of the path
So hot throughout the day
Are cool and wet with dew.
The path leads to the lake.
That lays beneath the stars
Reflecting the new Moon.
How strange it is to stay
In dark and quiet water
When the new Moon and stars
Are floating at your feet.

* * *

They say that once the Moon
Was a symbol of a human life.
Unlike the Godlike Sun
That shines in constant power
High in the sky,
The Moon is born to die,
And dwell in none-existence
For some time,
Again to break the darkness
Of the sky with piercing ends
Of its new circle,
That starting a new life
Grows to fulfill
The full moon's beauty -
The flower of the darkness
Destined to die.

* * *

The crooning of the waves,
That are so timid and are so light.
The sunny morning,
That makes us all forget the stormy night.
Immersed sublimely in the tranquil bliss
Of listlessness and rest, beneath abyss of heavens
Scarcely we recall the troubles of the past.
They're gone, and the new days ahead
Will grow up in number and the vast,
Abundant in events of nature good and bad
Our life will go on… Or, maybe I'm wrong
And life is not as long as we would like to think.
So let us drink this cool refreshing wine of
Crooning of the waves that are so strangely lit
This sparkling sunny morning.

* * *

The cats… Of what they think when purring in the silence?
And why the silence is entailed to purr?
Those rhythmic quiet strokes as of the clock tick-tocks …
Prolong our life and fill us with a rare
Sensation of tranquility and ease.
The cats… They purr on laps, their masters sit forgetting
The troubles of the world when guarding fragile dreams
Of their pets that scarcely ever think enjoying peace
The loss of which we all regretting
Do not disturb the cat, do not disrupt the quiet and peaceful moments
Of tick-tocks and purrs.

* * *

Oh God! What music, what fine chords
Of pure harmony and magic bliss!
With suffer and with joy my heart was filled.
Next door, from right behind the wall it came,
In this hotel of old style fashion grand pianos
Stood around the suites.
And certainly a great musician
Had settled next to me.
Elation, madness, all perception, I was.
And when the music stopped,
I couldn't help it, trembling, quivering,
To the next door I humbly came.
I knocked, and listened.
Who is there? A voice inquired.
…. Just to know what music it was.
What? The music? Nocturne in G it was.
Oh, thanks, I muttered and off I went.
The next morning, very well prepared
To introduce myself to the master
That played so well, smile on,
I stood at the next door.
Two children looked at me and uttered
That just this morning they arrived,
Their parents now deeply sleeping
After a long drive…

Not to provide the names of tenants
Was the strictest custom of the desk.

* * *

The sound that single string has made dissolved in the thin air
It disappeared to start allusions in my mind
The thought awakened was a noble heir
Of dreams that overwhelmed me like a ferocious tide
The night before… What a night it was! Imagine,
The purple twilight after sunset, warms and stars
That gleaming in the yonder steadily and gently
Opened the sky beyond the very Mars.
I dreamed of her, of my improbable ideal
Of a woman of the perfect alien world
That though unseen, but desperately real
Exists so close to us in its divine accord.
I dreamed I saw her musing in the starlight
With a white guitar untouched and undisturbed
Across her lap…
Serenely she was gazing at the Earth site
Admired by me, beloved by the Almighty Lord.

* * *

When the sun goes down and blue heaven
Looses its remote and absent look
By the Almighty brush enlivened
As easy as if by a fluke
The West ablaze with crimson torment,
All is transformed. For a brief moment
No longer can we recognize the world
That was so boringly familiar throughout the day…
To my dismay, I can not say what is more real
The tiresome hours of the day
That in their slow pace unreel
The ennui and rehashing play
Of the occurrences well known, or
The briefest moments, when the sun
By will of God horizon's crown
Allowing boredom in no one.

* * *

At times, by early afternoon,
When the sun is warming up her room
She sits alone in the chair of reddish plush.
Watching the air that's being pierced by the beam
Of yellow starlight, makes her dream…
The air holds not only dust
That flies at random quiet commotion.
She looks through it, as one would do
Through those bright patterns. Fancy notions
Concealed in them. In the same way
She makes her eyes to reach the focus
Beyond the very air and…
The outer locus full of life of peaceful nature
Meets her there. And in the depth of nowhere
Free of the troubles and rancor
Her soul finds refuge, and succor.

* * *

… I hear a distant neigh,
The darkness brightens, grows
In crimson fog,
As if some cloud
Pierced by the sun
Dissolves into blue air.
On mighty waving wings,
Its mane as maidens' hair
Full of the shining sparkling gold,
My horse, my magic mare,
Glides through the sky to me.
Her eyes are full of frenzy and of love
To which she finds response
Within my heart.
I call my horse Aurora.
The goddess of the down
Once had been named like this.
Across the sky we fly
To meet to all plethora -
The morning sun -
The crown of new day.

* * *

How can she make it clear? Music
Exists despite the power of sound.
What's sound - air's tremble? Funny
Even to think of it. No, music
Lives by itself. Musicians only
Help to deliver the distant echo
Of real melody that often
Needs not a sound but deep silence.

* * *

I close the curtain
And the world is left alone
In my room I find
Quiet comfort for my soul,
At my choice all things selected here and
Arranged the way I like.
In this small space I spend my hours
The best I ever have.
The room is a room in its true sense,
Because I see the things around,
Because I touch the objects, hear
The smell of flowers in the vase…
I'll go away, the room of mine
No longer will exist.
No me - the sensor, means no room.

I open up my curtain and the world
No longer left alone
I see its beauty, hear the smell
Of flowers in the garden,
I see the flying birds…
What'll happen to the world
When I'm no longer here?
No me - no world?

* * *