“White field of chamomiles,

Was opened up in front of me,

All of a sudden.

As if a herd of fluctus clouds,

Fled across the skies.

In search of native souls,

We are wasting our precious time,

As if taking a shower without a bathroom.

White field of chamomiles,

Reminds me about you, my dear friend.

About our childhood, and how

We used to cook macaroni in the cold water,

And what’s happened next…

The dough uneatable- but we had eaten it,

As we were hungry…

In that far year afterwar in Russia.

The native souls – it’s a myth.

We’re soul mates in reality rather than in mythology.

Forget about the skies, descend on this sinny Earth.

Let’s keep on living without haste.

Enjoy every moment and every single flower given us as a gift by nature.

And white field of chamomiles as well, coming up to me in a dream”.

June 21, 2019, c. Calgary.

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