/ second edition of my "Ê ÒÅÁÅ" /
http://www.stihi.ru/2010/02/03/6019
I tempted much to write, so why?
Want to become more glory-sounded myself?
Or full of tactful sence, I wanted to accept all (even) that
What yet I’ve never learnt my eyes so fairly well: -
What also You, your eyes, could never learn,
Cause simply never been allowed…
Before? Through Past? Or into Morrow?
Am I to wright to do You? -
Oh, that Everything, what so much I’m missing through the time;-
Thou art consist from yet-unspeakable few words,
From their sighs
And tints of colors…
You promise me to see belov’ed eyes of th’ friends?
You’ve booned me with a chance to rool my own transfigurations…
Am I a life or mask of words you feel within?
Love, lives in You?
Here, on this Earth? In (brighter) Heaven?
I breath? I tempt? Or banishing away?
And what? Dark-sadness or (an) enchanted light?
The signs and racemes in a reciprocal Soul of the Day,
Processions of the years, beauteous in gleams of skyi diamond,
Or years, - in a stanza of old woe and pain, - behested,
Unforgetably-dramatic, cold, and deadly dried?
And through all that, yet could I feel alive your dear smile?
Am I Yours there?...Me – Whom? – …undenied in this faintest instants?
Does spreads there a pain or laughter after me?
I am creating…All and everything? All arbiters and heroes & all women?
And every rusted or unpardoned their sin?
And…any feeling, bloomed in them, will I give to a cruel hands of monsters,
New outlowed, who will be tempted to betray You once again?
I do create a God…
Do I create a Life or newly Death (by then)?
/06.02.010 - Moscow /