Freedom…..

 

 

 

Freedom,

the battle cry of the martyrs,

or the expression of thinkers 

the dream of the poets
as the flight of the birds
in cage, in wait,
as the oceans embraces
the distant horizons…

Freedom
sometimes,
the cure as the leprosy eats,
the body and its soul,
the old remnants of youth
in appearance, momentarily
there remains, the lasting spirit
as the morning sun slices

across its night

Freedom,
as the old image comes to life
The familiar clicks of the lens
as its shutter captures
moments frozen to resurface again,
in Volga rivers and its discovery

Freedom,
the change, invoked
the years of endeavour
the oxygen, we breathe
through this struggle
in these years of tumult…

Freedom,
finally the peace,
as we return to our final abode,
with all our compositions
in our hands, the good and bad,
eternal, the flute and its echoes…

KASHKIN