Вино из одуванчиков

***

Three shots- freedom;
I'm no longer the dumb prisoner of the past
Neither the naive slave of the future
My soul was full with orange coloured skies
And fragile, shining crystal butterflies;
My mind, oh, my poorest mind,
Like the Persian bazaar,
Used to show the rarest and least common treasures known so far;
My heart only used to know love and kindness
Until it ran into terrible sadness,
It crucially fought for the light, for the life
And ended up in the darker afterlife;
I can't do it; my body is covered with the names
Of people I don't know,
Blind and deaf, I don't know what reality is anymore;
Shotgun of sweet memories,
Give me your hand,
Count to three...
One...
Two...
Three...
Pull the trigger...and fly,
Fly in the holy freedom.