It’s deep into the night. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way lit up in celebration.
No need to rush. I have no reasons left
to stir you with the lightning of communications.
So to say, the incident dissolved.
The love boat smashed against reality.
We’re even. And we should absolve
mutual hurts, grudges and anxieties.
What eerie silence, as if the world went numb.
The sky bequeathed to us its constellations.
In moments like these I’d like to be the one
with centuries, and history and the creation.

Vladimir Maiakovsky