Valery Kourinsky

03.23.1999

SPRING CONSPIRACY

Too abridged edition of the previous
must be published by the memory,
comics-like version of " War and Piece in My Soul" ,
or "War and World in My mind"...
A short course of a sort of "Bolshevik Party History"
by mini-Stalin of the instinct of self-preservation.
Notices on the shirt-sleeve-cuff made by the old "chemical" pencil,
beslobbered with else that boy's saliva a fifty-years-while ago.

One more novel is over. The protagonists are dead.
The remainders of deeds are alive,
they run still not expired and seek new hosts,
new actors, new upsets filled with new contents
up to the old silver ridge
singed by the same moon that is that night
like a dim tormenting thought.

Decorations and live ambiance still compose
the former atmosphere
that only claims to be decoded in an unprecedented way.
Objects continue plot of external drama.
Objects conceive spring conspiracy,
surrounding us as fate's representants
in parliament of our silent interpersonal discussions.

Pains are mixed up
and nobody knows
where is whose.
Pains and joys and troubles and caresses
got mixed
and nobody
is capable to differ them from each other.

White sheets are waiting for the nib of my dream,
white pages, white leaves of being,
and of my being here too --
amidst love and amongst waves,
on heights and in abysses,
being aware and losing consciousness
so that to receive it refreshed.

White spaces have to be tilled
with the lines performed by flights of stars
and thoughts that are like them.