One can't look for an antique
shop along the avenue.
Every purchase has its right place
and not all streets are a route.
It's weird to find something special
on the windows of a central street.
There's a place for every single thing
but the one for a marvel
is just a bit more hidden.
The treasure is at the end of the rainbow
'cause finding it near you
on your own bed is far less enjoyable.
One can't look for an antique
shop along the avenue.
Every purchase has its right place
and not all streets are a route.
How to search for a shadow in a desert
or to be amazed at how hard it is to meet in open water?
Before leaving one should be sure
of what one wants to look for, of one's true needs.
And so I propose, as not to get confused,
that whoever is under fifty years old
turns their television off now.
But one can't enter a shop
and then complain that everything has a price.
If life is an always-open auction,
even thoughts will be also for sale.
But the longer strolls,
the whitest snowfalls
and the words I write to you,
I don't know where I've bought them.
Surely, I looked for them
with no hurries
because silver, you know, is bought
but gold is awaited.
Gold is awaited.