I take to the sky over Kishinev.
Siting on a golden spire, in my rusty armour.
Watching Latin and Slavonic Europe collide.
Rivers of cars negotiate the town's meanders.
A babuska attempts to barter a puppy.
A dilapidated wall screams "free Dniestr".
A young soldier dreams of the bus to Bucharest.

Silently an angel sits beside me.
An old acquaintance: the heaven above Berlin.
We never learned to extinguish love.
To break free from emotional fascism.
Always blessed by our timeless life,
But ever cursed by our lifeless eternity.

We wonder about the colours of the world.
What is the taste of the clouds?
What is the smell of the rain?
Is there pain in smiling?
Do trees remember?
Do mountains sing?
Do dolphins cry?
 

M.Daedalus