Six thirty in the morning, Kyiv.
The custodian is still admiring the dawn,
slowly invading the sky still tinted black
He's roaming between the rounded walls,
He is the loner of those sweet places,
Out of time.
He does his daily round,
where life and death once warmly crossed
Chased by his own shadow,
down the limbo alley
the sun continues to rise,
Even in the darkness of time.
By Clément Renard
By Clément Renard
