O leave me my illusion, dear sir!
It’s such a dreary world without your presence.
I’d like to feel your dreamy longing stare,
your hand that inner child in me caresses.

And when you step on brittle yellow leaves
while traveling through forests in Karpaty,
I’d hear the rustle in the urban sleeves,
where hopelessly arrested nature stutters.

I know that there is honesty in you
which saves us both from sorrow and confusion.
You’re down-to-earth, and sensible, and true…
So how can I survive without illusion?

2015