From vanity and eternal motion,
there to the silence and pacification.
The gates of cemetery, as a doors in a dream,
in the other world from a haze of delusion-
in the city of dead men.
Where thousands of names, worned by a time,
with moss covered, on a gravestones,
carry the riddles of somebody's fates.

And it seems, that in the depth of alley,
in the shade from the foliage of trees,
rustling of age-old cut silk dress,
under the waltz whisper of leaves,
a gallant cavalier admired a lady.
Whose thin hand in a fine lace glove,
will smooth a curl coquettishly,
and after-this passing vision will dissolve.

So ghostly life is sluggish,
with a contempt to those, who hurries still,
swimming in a noisy stream.
Here allegedly time stopped,
and you, stay a bit longer and with the bated breath,
you’ll hear those, who hid the secrets
in a reliable place under a marble flag,
you’ll grasp,perchance,the meaning wandering and wanders,
where is a peace, listen to the voice of eternity, wich talks to you.


© 2012 T R.I.P. All Rights Reserved