One step across the yellow line.
You stare at Maykovsky’s eyes.
Absolute self illusion, though.
The man in uniform never scribbled a poem.
 

Inquisitive, he browses through the red booklet.
Whatever once was utopian, is now merely kitsch.
In gold the symbols of a nation that no longer is.
“Wonderland”, its citizens ironically called it.
Not a state, just a prank that exhausted all its laughs.
 

A seemly epitaph still to be found.
As ever, history is the most turbulent of streams.
But ironically you feel liberated.
Relieved from the burden of a fatherland.
 

M.Daedalus