Autumn of Dislove
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On the heart are motley patches,
Scars of past connections, dust.
Skeletons of passions, remnants of feelings,
The vanilla of pompous romances
Are stashed away on distant shelves.
The soul slept for half a century
In favor of meager understatements.
Cold-blooded affairs
Wove steel webs
From vanity, from talentless meetings.
The springtime pictures have passed,
There's no chance to preserve the warmth.
We sit in our burrows in the evenings.
You hide your gaze. Your eyes are empty.
A shadow of alienation between us,
And the storm won't clear the clouds.
There will be no thunder. The continuous
Rains have been falling for years now.
The greasy summer of life
Is replaced by the autumn of non-love.
Enter value