(poem)

In honor of the great Ukrainian writer Mykhailo Kotsiubynskyi

Intermezzo

A pleasant taste—
The chapter’s done.
I flee the city,
The race is run.
My pace now slows,
I feel the strain—
That iron grip,
That ghost of pain.
But I am on
This winding track—
An intermezzo,
No turning back.

The wheels, they hum,
I feel the glide.
I must keep living,
With aim and pride.
I have to feel
Life’s full embrace,
Though breath comes hard,
I hide my face.
To tame the city—
I’m not yet there,
Its pulse and power
I cannot bear.

It’s not yet mine,
Not deep inside—
Still feeling out,
Still trying to hide.
Still seeking signs
That never shows—
But still I live,
Still I must grow.