by Darya Charkashyna
Issue: Elysium (Spring 2012)
Your Icy stare.
It does not merely pierce through outer core,
But penetrates the deep within to reach my sacred inner lair.
A dying flame I give to the Wind of Winter,
A flame of dreams, ideas, words,
That may perchance bring back the Fire in Your Eyes.
This act of Hopefulness is crushed by winter Ice.
No longer hope exists for Dying flames to rise in Walls that as Bricks of Crystal are arranged,
Too late it is to bring them back,
The current of The Wind has changed.
The Strangled Sound of the Icy Breeze,
I try to speak again,
Words fail to leave my quivering lips.
Reality of feelings gone is much too harsh for dreams of mine that Run with the Olympic Flame,
The Fire burning on the top of our golden torch is out,
And only a gust of Emotionless, White Wind is here to take its place.
I tried to bring out any flame,
All my dreams, ideas, words,
All of them were in vain.
A sharp intake of air,
Is that a fire I see inside those eyes?
Alas, the fire’s gone,
Your frozen Eyes have no emotion in them,
My cruel mind says,
“Did eyes of his, ever possess emotion?”
Be gone such cruel thought!
I look into your eyes,
They are so cold.
The tender, warm breeze disappeared from them,
They never even knew Me.