Кавал свири (Kaval Sviri) from Lurkkkking by Yunyun

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Кавал свири


Occasionally,
an ideal is filled with its honey.
For a sweet breath.

Then,
another random day arrives.

The bored sun spreads across the land,
the wilted moon hides behind the brush.

A sour wind,
carrying something dead,
or dying.

The firefly give me a kiss,
then give me the bites.

The mycelium softens,
spreads,
rots in silence.

Ants and mole crickets are busy
for climbing the peak
to achieve their life purpose.

Life hands me a bitter succade.

I lift a stone
and throw it
into the gorge.

No echo returns.

This is a garden of rot.
Still breathing.

Tasting the air of miasma.
Still here.

And somewhere,
The flute is calling.
Kaval decided to blow the whistle.

• World
• Glasgow