Ragon Linde


Ragon Linde
Ragon Linde


Words by A. Molotkov

Music by Ragon Linde


Gray petals of bombs fall on us

crack the body’s puzzle.

We know how it bends to metal’s will

how it forgets

the meaning it carries,

when broken.

Some say the meaning goes away.


I want to see it.

Burned eyes are petals

from a black rose

we love and fear

even in our dreams.

And you dream too,


we’ve seen your eyes rush under lids

at the checkpoint of subconscious,

burn through stolen scenes,

what others felt

when bombs fell. If petals

are made of ash,


what can we know about the flower,

its smell,

its proud posture,

it’s short-lived optimism?

Some say the meaning comes later

I want to see it. As you learn, your end,

See the body’s ironic puzzle,

its checkpoint,

its unanswered question –

you realize it too:


nothing is firm here, not even the harm we do

nor how we carry and strangle,

and fail to strangle the meaning of you.

the meaning of you

the meaning of you