Serge Savostianov


Confabulations torture me so much,
I see the saloon coloured with night make-up.
Your sound’s ascending unexplored to hear.
I sink in depth and slowly keep in touch
With voice of Yours which’s clinging to my ear.
It hides behind its vicious desire,
The fact you real excite me just too much.

The cocktails standing on a table across the aisle
Are disputing on Ram Dass and on Brenton.
Two mugs with beer and a Martini glass
Are arguing with Remy Martin
As they assert predomination of Nirvana.

It’s there we have found peace,
Where darkness gets inebriated
And colours fade and here we found relief
After we watch throughout the Sadness.
And here we are burning on the pyre,
Remains of our desire.

The deck is empty.
That’s a sign of collapse,
The knees are filled with salty liquid.
There’s liquid all around the boats.
It causes sickness,
And our souls are turning out.

The anxious seagulls spread their wings to cover
The boats circling in a slow tango.
The lips are salty, iodine smell around.
That is Genesis, simple dwelling,
And we have drowned by conjuration of Poseidon.

I hear the tune of the Atlantic tango
As surf is roaring and carrying
Towards the sinful shore
The grimaces of those who have been buried under.




Published with the permission of the author. © by Serge Savostianov
No copying or redistribution allowed without the written permission of the author.

See also:

Transatlantic Tango in Russian
Transatlantic Tango visualized for Born Magazine (highly recommended, no kidding)

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