Felt so long like Eros sat in prison,
let my blood pale from crimson.
Until you cast your shadow to my sun
made of all sweet smelling things and spirits risen.
Undid my braid
every tangled knot, and auburn strand; one by one.
I could not define safety, until with you I laid
and showed, to my temple, the steel of gun
see now, even fear is manmade
as the legs of fate's circle on run.

Do you know what it is to feel complete
and still sing the lonely song of sailors?
As your darling walks with slow feet
what thoughts of me, will you savor?
Would never need to see another sky: by makers, so long as I could look into your eyes, so blue,
so sweet.
I wish I could say I love you
but I am so new and weak.
So I sit, and stir, and tear up papers;
wait another rosy day for you to speak.
I wish I could say I love you
and you would repeat the words, caught between cheek.

dumb wind blows away
all the words smart people say
progress is decay

I've mud on my face,
Dripping from my eyes,
The tears of the Earth,
Shed as the Earth dies.
I've fire on my cheeks,
Burning off my skin,
I've become the flames,
Of the Hell we're in.

Lithuania! My homeland! You are like vigour.
How invaluable you are, only he can figure,
Who has lost you. Today your beauty wholly I view
And seeing, describe it, because I long after you.

Holy ******, who guards Luminous Czestochowa
And shines in the Gate of Dawn! You, who watches over
Strongheld Novogrudok and its faithful populace!
As once you healed me, a child, so miraculous
(When into your care from my despondent mother bid
I lifted my already departed eyelid,
And soon could make my way on foot to your temple's door,
Having gone to offer thanks to God for a life restored),
So too you shall restore us to our homeland's womb.
Meanwhile, may you convey my soul from its longing's gloom
To those aforrested hills, those evergreen meadows,
Stretched wide across the space where the azure Neman flows;
To those vast fields, painted in varicoloured grain-dye,
A landscape gilded with wheat, silver-plated with rye,
Where the runch is amber, and the buckwheat white as snow,
Where like a maiden's blush the red clover overgrows,
And all's interwoven, as if by a ribbon, green
balk, within which a wild pear tree can sometimes be seen.

You sow seeds of your life,

By your own self.

You wish that they survive,

Without others' help.


You put some water of affection,

And desire for a vibrant leaves collection.

You anticipate it show the true inner reflection.


You wish the plant to grow soon,

It peaks out and sees the brutality.

You take care of it in the blazing afternoon,

So that it doesn't adapts to the causality.


You wish it to grow into a sturdy brawny tree,

Which gives fruits and blooms flowers,

Which can be set free,

And is full of vie and power.


Once it's usual to the surroundings,

People come and go.

And say bad words cursily

The tree- it's morals go low.


The imaginations and expectations

All are failed.

Full of scars and suctions

You now sailed.

Back to - from where you came.

No guilt, no regret, no shame.

You think to earn more fame,

Making your life truly lame.


The tree without you died,

Because it had no hope.

Are you still capable to say "it's mine"

It is long gone.

Like a star in the daylight

Unseen but burning bright.

Like a hibernated bear in it's cave

You don't know the existence hence stand brave.


For the birds also chirp

In front of the sea's enormous burp.

For the Nats also build home

Sadly smashed when you walk or Rome.


Like a fire inside for doing right

The things that bothered when lacked might.

Like inside a prison cell as a slave

For freedom you shall forever crave.


For the spirits inside can hide sometimes

But to ignite them, enough is this rhyme

For now you should get up as I did

Remember not to be your own culprit.

After the day is over

And the thrush begins lullabies.

I need to escape from this tiredness

By going into sweet delight.

Softly like heaven's fleece

Those eyelids close in thought.

I'm in a state so easily forgettable

Yet one that I like the most.

red sun red skin white
blanket white fingers touching
ghosts of dead trade winds

setting down the kettle,
in the light of the setting sun,
pouring water, the green tea leaves settle,
at the bottom of a teapot, brewed for no one.