Cold azurite — sometimes — turns into a rose,
By itself it blooms, nature walks along this road.
As if it once was alive, and now on the shore
A stone rose: no silken softness, no scent anymore.
It doesn’t reach for the sunlight, doesn’t tremble in the breeze,
It doesn’t blossom overnight, and — from love — doesn’t suddenly fall into the abyss.
You cannot look away — but only beautiful blue stone,
The cold of the ocean where a lost island stands alone.
2025.12.13