Untitled

don't talk to me about love,

tell me instead the tales of wars 

and blood-shed, 

tell me about old ladies,

waiting for their husbands and sons,

tell me the fragrance of loneliness and desperation,

tell me what does the old man talk about whole night in his sleep,

tell me the color of gloomy pubs and bars,
and dead faces of dying men,

tell me anything save honey-combed words,

and sweet jelly icing 

I can't take too much of

what my heart knows is a lie.