Withering grass, light and water,
The air’s got a taste.
Its soft, mellow beige caresses.
Protrusion, so many signs.
Fresh green,
Dry soil.
Soul flies.
It remains sitting
on the bar of the clouds.
It’s laughing, heartily.
A little child’s seesawing,
he’s looking around.
He’s sinking and rising.
He touches the sky
by its leg.
He bows his head back,
he’s laughing.
Pictures are flashing blue
on the flag.
Chalk is in the painter’s hand.
Today everything is
so blue.
A face creeps out
from the picture.
Blue colours are flashing.
Dreams keep
throwing about.
Paris…blue…India…gold…
A voice’s shouting:
“Who can paint with blue?”
Light filters in the painting.
A pair of eyes look back.
Shadow and light,
tear and riddle.
The stone creeps out.
Its golden yellow warms.
Water splashes,
mellow grape is calling.
Its white hair
drops on the
table.
Lights burst.
Gallopping horses
are seen
in soft green.
The painter
has changed
the light.
A face is resting
on every branch.
Severity and violet softness.
Chidren playing in the sand.
I don’t give this picture!
Blue – the past!
The future
has already
started.
Dry ice is breaking,
light comes up
to the surface.
We’re alive,
We’re waving
and laughing,
mellow grape sweetens
our mouths.