There’s no hope
for my longing for oblivion.
the night stagnates
in dark moans,
and I can’t escape
to his endless lament
Hours are centuries
of blind yearning.
The stopped clock
laughs at my defeat
and I relapse into disbelief
at its paralytic digits.
Squeaking by silence,
the sounds of the night
do not lull the soul,
but exasperate her.
And I howl at the moon
Because she won’t sing me a lullaby.
next to me, you sleep
in a placid unconsciousness
painting your fantasies,
kind and fleeting.
And I quench my thirst for calm
In your closed and peaceful eyes
Tiptoe I step
For the darkness that kills me
to don’t disturb
the magic of your dream.
And I walk away into the dim light
of my trembling lantern
to wait for the day
text Olga Brajnović
Photo: Josh Hild