Cold dogs in the back yard

by September 11, 2010 0 comments

There it was – in my pocket!
Oh, what a dangerous traveler I was – with a ticket!
Leaving my country for chasing a dream…
In my other pocket – what was left of my happiness
and luck. I was running away from the black dogs
of sorrow. I thought they can’t swim across the ocean.
I was wrong, of course.
And here I am, now. Sitting under the naked light bulb,
sipping the table wine, thinking “Is there a God?”
No answer at all!
I hear the barking of my neighbor’s dog. It is dark outside.
In some distant mountain I can feel the snow, I can hear
the wolves run in silence. And now all is so quiet!
The faucet in the kitchen is dripping, the pipes gurgle
and in my lap is this small, old poetry book. I search
for God in there. Nothing! Not even some divinity
of the Word. I continue my search. Outside gets darker than
black. The dog howls. I look up at the light and the brightness
burns my eyes, my wings start to flap. And all of a sudden
I hear a voice:
“Be careful! The bright watchers are still there!

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