oh, how lovely our projections be
i miss the delicious euphoria of seeing a too beautiful universe contained in another's eyes.
i miss the transcendent feeling of hope, despite all odds.
i miss the thoughts you (all) inspire, and the things we (conspire) to do.
once or twice a year i am beguiled, a-mused, and ride that little roller coaster to a delightful, draining nowhere.
perhaps i should accept that such things are only and forever but little delusions, and things to be wary of... but for a little while still i'll hope that something approximating it is possible.
that some (in & out) pretty she will find me similarly, and that we will smile like charming fools into and through some long night (of curious bliss).
perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
Poet Taras Zaitsev, 1971
Translation by Quinxy von Besiex, 2009