The Spell

What a joy it is, to create,
In sleepless hours of the night
As clarity begins to gather
in these moments of silence
Like peace in an unknown lands
On expressions and phrases
That will become one day
Their own characters and voices

What an elation it is to write,
For experience and freedom
As you turn them into objects
Of your choice and existence
As you turn them into ornaments
Of embroidery and ingredients of life
As they become you,
As you become them

In the late hours of the night;
As the darkness begins to wither,
In a tiny room of colour and light
Full of characters and its excavations
In distant years to come, only its effect
As it cast its spell in unbounded domains!

Kashkin