The year turns white, deadly pale,
its days will soon drawn in a gale
caused by the annual weil
over the ages.
Again down the calendar tree
the days will fall in the sea
torn from the stub and let free
just like thin pages.
A queue of promising lies
will stumble over the glass
of vine that will spill on the gloves
of strangers
To come and take over the old,
I will seem incredibly bold,
My fire's wild heat is so cold
like ashes.
The requiem over the past
will hardly a minute still last
before we will finally blast
the heaven.
The haven of two-null-one-six
is conquered by people's drunk mix,
the year will soon cross the Styx.
Null-Seven.
Thank you for your commentaries, my dear friends.
Initially I wanted to create something quite optimistic but it became a gothic poem filled with symbols and metaphors.
Anyway, I DO wish you Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, still I hope you draw some conclusions from this small piece composed by a 22-year-old girl from Russia.
Faithfully yours,
Anastasia
PS As for the picture: this was initially the place where I wanted to go alone for the New Year holidays. The location's name is Teriberka (200 km from Murmansk, Russia). The fastest route from Moscow was something like 52 hours. Still I decided to go to this place in summer (I promise); meanwhile I leave Russia quite soon to meet the new born year in another country.