The last astronaut stands in the void,
Where oxygen echoes the heartbeat,
And stars, like cold crystal dust,
Scatter into the darkness of non-being.
The porthole – a wound in the steel body,
Through it, Earth, like a legend of dreams.
A green-blue island of childhood,
Where neither friends nor words remain.
Here – only metal and slow rotations,
The station breathes the aging of circuits,
Each signal sent into cold space
Lost like a cry without an answer.
He whispers: “Home… I remember
How the rain smells, how the grass blooms…”
The vacuum listens and remains silent,
Only the orbit holds the words.
Perhaps, one day, this lonely breath
Will leave the station, the body, and the fear,
To flare with light in the stellar waters –
A farewell echo of deserted worlds.
The Farewell Echo
19