There is more

The bourgeois man, with nothing to loose.
Got thrown with fifty tons of steel
Got jumped by a hundred cocky elves.
Got drowned in the shallow mud
And now the life is so hard so hard…
That there`s nothing to tolerate in ourselves
Anymore, No more. But yet - there is more.

There is the bourgeois`s mans protest
And the tiny, but ultimate test
Of life
And living with it
Even, if there`s no more wit
And anything to hold on to
There`s still a home in you.
Even if the ferrys doing its last ride.
Departing of its century
And yourè the last on stride.
Yourè not in a hurry.
The time is no worry,
The clock isn`t spurring
Yourè not in a hurry.

Õnnetus

Lugesin täna ajalehest, et Norras said surma kaks eestlast. Parvetades juhtus õnnetus.
Minu esimesel kainest mõistusest puhtal hetkel lootsin, et ehk oled ka üks neist, kellega juhtus Norras parvetades õnnetus - siis oleksin saanud tunda värsket sinust puudutatud tunnet.
Paraku ei ole 40 aastat sinu vanus, kallis.

The Great Depression (of the bee)

The great depression.
Gauntlet.

This is the end of me,
The frustating bee.

At first,
there were flickerings and fluckerings,
quiverings and shiverings and tremblings.

And unjustified luck in the bees nest.
Times of reckless happiness,
I thought it was a bless.
Hasty, yes.
Even for a bee.

So now I just wait
for the limbs to show me the sign.
Ironic, I became the bait of a bee.
Still there won`t be noone to dine -
This Voracious deed was done by me.

My chocolate day

It was only yesterday. My chocolate day,
And yet it`s moving further away
from the way I remember it.
Even the bright and shivering bit.
Away-away go my chocolate day.

It was not brownish nor was it white.
Embrace of invisible tones, but just right.
It was unexpected as it was mellow,
Comprising the dulcet of freedom bellow.
My chocolate day, now turning to clay.

It was the breakdown of normal.
The end of dilettante and formal.
Tearing without the tears
of a little mans wildest scares.
My chocolate day, so unlike today.

Milda on surnud

Teretavad naabrid teiselpool aedu surevad, nagu nende teregi selle sama päeva täpsel tunnil, kui see lõpuks öeldud sai - kiirelt ja valutult. Kohus kaelast ära ja sinilind paberlehe ruudukese sees.
Ega keegi ei mäleta, millal täpselt Milda suri. Ammu juba.
"Kas siis ei teadnudki?"
"Ei teadnud."
Milda maja igatahes lammutatakse. Sinna, kus enne oli kartulipõld, kerkib nüüd garaaž. Viimati aastal 91`kainet päeva näinud, alatasa kaklevate Engelmannide onn sääl kõrval on juba mitu aastat lammutatud. Kas Engelmannid on veel elus? Joodikuid pidavat vanajumal hoidma kui enese silmatera. Sellepärast nad alevi tsentrumile lähemale kolisidki. "Moskvasse Moskvasse, vat seal käib tõeline elu!" Suure lauluga minnes jätsid veel värava meelega lahti, et Milda kass pulma tõttaks.

Nüüd on Milda koos kassiga kadunud.