/View.info/ Sleep Deacon! Don’t wake up!
Stay in your unknown grave!
You are fine. You can’t see from there…
the fate of our worthy race.
You don’t see the mothers who don’t give birth today.
The old ladies by the garbage cans.
Fathers with empty pockets,
in hands with trunks and geranium for luck.
Our children are already disappearing.
Villages dead. Deserted cities.
We build hotels, parking lots, garages.
A BMW passes by the beggar.
They dream their childhood in dreams,
deep sorrow in their eyes burns.
…Sleep Deacon! Don’t wake up!
You’re good there under that black dirt.
I envy you for not waiting
your dreams crucified.
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