Noises ebbed. I entered the stage door.
Leaning up against the door jamb, still
I attempt to piece from distant echoes,
What the future has in store for me.
I am scrutinized by nightly darkness
With a thousand binoculars to see.
Only if you’re willing, Abba Father,
Take this cup of suffering from me.
I am fond of your persistent plot line,
And quite willing to take on the role.
But another drama is unfolding,
And this time I wish to be let go.
But the plot is thought through and predestined,
And the journey end is firmly sealed.
I’m alone, all drowned in Phariseeism.
Life is not a stroll across a field.
Translated by Dina Belyayeva