Навіщо. What For

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Mama, mama, mama, mama, mama:

Coma, coma, coma, coma, coma...

The ninth day of coma,

And yet no full stop,

Such are the punctuation marks

Of life and of what comes after,

And semicolons slowly drop to you through the infusion line,

This are they who hold you in this world

Where you read newspapers every day for a long time

But could not believe there's now war with Russia

Where once you decided on my behalf

Which name and surname I will have, which nation and native city,

What books I will read and what I become in the end.

Another thing that holds me is that you don't believe that I am grown up

And will be able to live without you as I should.

And I hold your wet powerless hand

Saying everything that I have not said yet,

And question marks fill the air

And even sharper smell of camphor spiritus…

25 March 2015