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Among emerald crowns of pines and birches stands a man.
At his hand – thick forests, marches, Unconventionally huge clouds,
Injured roads of Lithuanian suburbs,
Grandmothers selling tomatoes near supermarkets,
Pink chorba and beetroot odours,
But the man’s hand has covered that all.
His chest is a sun-dawn,
His eyes are the minarets of summer.
Life has yet to happen—to him it has already happened,
A miracle is yet hidden between the stars – to him it is already on his palm.
A day in Kaunas – a sequel of symphonic zigzags of Ciurlionis.