Svajūnas Dačkevičius.


Bends, deaf  Senility,

waddle towards to the house of God.

Through the flowered street,

Closer and closer towards their own.


And the eyes go up to heaven,

A new mysterious space.

Where the souls of ancestors flow,

Wait is not your space yet.


Bends, deaf    solitude  ,

Disappears in the fog …

The evening  pray  silent,

At the dissolved candle …

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