Автора? не нашла, но замечательное стихотворение!
---
The coloured glasses of kaleidoscope -
That was is far youth a favourite game.
Growing older, we just carry on
Those splinters of the glass in memory.
While alternating names of our loves,
While chattering, or being angry, joking,
We change the pictures by chance
So easily, as if the tube we're turning.
I'm playing with mosaic of the words.
So I could make the tender picture and
With music of the intricate flower's flock
I could charm you as if with magic wand.
But I can also overturn my blaze,
Which's sharpened by the irony, and well,
Towards the world, thus crossing way
Of someone by its inner angriness.
And this is not the childish game -
In the kaleidoscope of the days
Let's stop!!! Let's hold the thought
What patten there would be out laid?