Coming back home – wounded, skinless
Slowly sliding through ghosts of trees
With hums of Balalaika in his candid eyes
And withered leaves – caresses of the wizards

He squeezed through Life’s Fall like a chick
With wings torn apart by ether
With flights of smiles of cranes
And dreams of Freedom – ephemeral

If I could see him among the scattered  leaves
Was just because he taught me to be silent
Be one with memories of bronze
And long for spring through frozen hopes…