A BALLAD OF A LOCAL POET

One day he whispered:
"My life is finished.
I want to go out tonight
Into the tunnel,
The tunnel that's waiting,
The tunnel of radiant light."

And then he heard you:
"Hold on to the rope!"
You spoke to him in a song:
"This life is a journey
Of sadness and hope,
This journey is painful and long."

He saw a young woman,
Her face cut and bleeding,
Her body lay flat by a car,
And still he could hear
Your voice that receded,
You told him: "Hold on!" from afar.

And so he walked
Through this dark, filthy town,
Looking for something to do,
Screaming: "I'm done here,
I want to get out!"
And yet he was thinking of you.

He walked through the bars,
Where they checked out women
And ranked them as bitches and sluts,
Who all smelled of perfume
Or somebody's semen,
Spilled beer and cigarette butts.

He walked through this town,
Looking for answers
In popular music and clubs,
A local band played,
While a crowd was dancing
And someone was throwing up.

And he continued
In pain and frustration,
Searching for something to say,
Bored by TV and radio stations
Where every top single was played.

And then he saw you--
His sweet inspiration--
While someone was shot in the head,
You came like a deeply
Disturbed mental patient
To comfort his sorrow and dread.

And then he heard you:
"Hold on to the rope!"
And there you were like a dream--
You tied it around,
Around his throat,
And then he could scarcely scream.

And so he whispered:
"Now it's over."
Then he was heard no more,
While somebody laughed
And said: "Baby, just blow me!"
And somebody yelled:
"Fucking whore!"

                                    November 3, 1994
                                --Alexander Shaumyan