Moscow Does Not Believe the Tears

Hello there, whoever you are reading this right now. Thank you for your time in advance; this a rather personal piece for me as it was written inspired by many things. Here is a prenote: Moscow is a great city, truly beautiful and magnificent and all the things a touring agency can tell you better than me. A moon has two sides, and this is the side of Moscow not a lot of people are fully aware of.
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Moscow does not believe the tears.
Your breath on the glass
That I strive so hard to catch
It flies away before I can trace it into a smiley.

It hurts, it does, as your breath fades into the cold Russian air,
And my fingers trace an indifferent surface of the transparent mirror;
My eyes glide around the ideal smoothness
And I think I saw your eyes faintly reflected in it,
And our eyes crossed, like that first time, innocently,
But I was not sure whose eyes were crying.
But hey, Moscow does not believe the tears;

It does not believe in these false, hysterical cries
In these attention-freaks that leak through our soul mirrors,
In these tender moments, that can’t take its grandness of centuries.
Remember, Moscow does not believe the tears.

Your breath on the glass,
The cloudy spot on a perfectly vertical place
Is that possible?
I can’t verify that, cause I was too late,
It evaporated, slipped around my finger tips and laughed into the Red Square.
No matter how much one claws, those ethereal droplets are not coming back.

And you cry,
With all you’ve got, honestly;
And it is no evening tantrum, or the strained nerves hysteria,
But those tears are what defines a breach in a force.
And you can consider them to be true;
Because there is nobody around to impress,
Nobody to pathetically demand pity from,
Not even yourself, but just that memory
Of a silly, bitter loss.


But hey, Moscow does not believe even those tears



Go, stroll down the streets, walk around the squares,
Run in circles, rush in the metro;
Lose yourself in the crowd, and try to find yourself again.
But do you really want to?
Shush, if you scream they won’t even notice.
They don’t believe in something else than what there is already.
It hurts right?
But remember, Moscow does not believe in tears.

And the beautiful, dazzling, blinding, angry lights of Moscow
Dry Your breath on the glass before I can trace it into a smiley
Why?
Because Moscow does not believe in tears.

As your dreams merge into one, small, diminishing gray spot
That dissipates on the glass before I can touch it
You realize, your breath meant nothing on this landscape of Moscow,
It was there only for me to touch, and I missed it,
No one else cared.
When will this occur to everyone else, that we all just breathe onto the glass?
Do you want to cry now?
But hey, Moscow does not believe in tears.