One finger slides across the imprinted rock--

Her mind responds, without hesitation,

When fingers read between the lines of bulk and hollowness in the granite— 

She has not seen the light of day in years,

But with her fingers she is able to comprehend

The pain of tears, the pain of having lived beyond her designated time,

She stands, the untimely witness to her offspring’s death.

 

One life resides in the imprinted rock.

To them--one million, to her--just one.

And maybe if she had the strength enough

To scrape it out of the obstinate granite,

She'd beat it hard to life and back--

It wasn't theirs life to take--

And she will choose her destiny again, all on her own.

 

Who are they? Monsters, evils, clowns?

What kind of business is it that they run--

Soliciting with lives of innocence and pride,

Exchanging nightmares for a home and bride,

Returning clowns to entertain the crowd

With half torn limbs, amnesia, and shell shock.

Who are they? Are they monsters? No, they're us.

 

And if it's so, then let them take her life.

She'll march their way, she'll wage their war,

She'll spare no enemy that rises in her path,

No enemy nor friend at that--

Her only friend and enemy remains his death.

The sunshine beamed for twenty years alone,

And now the only thing remains: his death and darkness in her eyes.

 

Her fingers slide across the imprinted rock,

She cannot tell the letters in the dark:

Alyonsha, Vanya, Dima, Vlad,

Which one is hers? Which numbers correspond to the one she loved?

She stands there, blind, with tulips and lilac hanging from her hand,

Will she be able to guess it right this time?

Will she lay flowers to her son imprinted in the granite?