Genesis

In the course of your life the sighing butterfly leads you to the
Garden, where children are playing. Are they God's? I believe they are.

At the moment of death you do not remember Aphrodite,
We remember the letters of G and O.
The distance from one god to another one is
Mere One Living One.

Does He bring the silver plate with grapes and apples on it
To your bed balancing accounts?
The dearest gifts from the sea-goddess?

With bated breath we lie in wait for but
Who will come? Clinging for images – one, another -
One hope - HE is not an image and He is coming like a Person.

Blood and bread. Your breath that will be caught in the transmission,
Will speak for all your myths – spiritual and physics - just
Don’t look into the eyes of Death with long-long hair of the curling promises.

Hold carefully your ancient vase of life, and keep it lovingly for
Its yours forever.

Unless, of course, you do prefer the images.
In ancient times the images were reigning in a ball,
The God came here to be born, to save all living fairytale nature.

To Life through Life. Genesis

In water on that day He saw all fairy tales mournings,
And their howl to be revealed, to be fulfilled with Him -
He was the only hope of all myths.

And Fairy became the Truth. Do you believe? I do.