Stop


Stop,

breaking my thought,
I was ready to fly over the 
echoes of days,

and dissolve into the time of water,
to forget the flavour of 
rotten days.

I'm craving every paranoia,
and eating the broken time of cogwheel,
being a mute in this city. The pair of
pearls penetrate into the sound of
rosemary.

I’m leaving here, the chaos of solitude,
I’m leaving here, the pain of solid rust,
I’m leaving here, the grammar of worn-out conflict.

I stop to stay on the road of unknown doom.
I stop to fall into the rumour.
Stop,
stop desiring

the echoes—

stop,

stop
the silence and the sound.