The dome of hope

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A church bell
from the distand past
keeps sounding powerlessly
in my ears
The lonely church where the half-burnt candle
pure and fragnant
still stands by St Mamas’ icon
calling me back reluctantly to close the gate
and silently wiping off my own foot steps
as I wake up to see my friends gone
and the forgiving sunrise
streaming with pride over the ageless dome.