—- àâòîðñêèé ïåðåâîä —-
The old bouquet of my diseases is very good and fresh.
Among them you will find
the hypertension - scarlet rose.
My head is always full with lilac fog.
And often I do not understand:
are those the rules of game
or are they threats?
But nonetheless, when man can’t sleep at night,
his heart is breaking through a broken gate
not in a dream, but in reality of fear
and there he may see the chain of silhouettes and their steps are in the hurry.
French kiss is wet.
Its touch is long-awaited guest and obviously the sweetest master.
And former shame marks the innocence of white bed sheets,
and stars are symphony concept,
amphitheater of black void
is building block of harmony in heaven ...
and rhymes of ones unspoken verse,
and God's tribes are roaming through the desert ...
There are no pessimists on barricades
and no optimists are smiling in forgotten trenches.
Young down is splashing in the milk and honey bath
and in the antique movie the blanket lies on parquet floor,
and in the silence: “No, no ... yet ...
please ... oh no ... ",
of madness and delight ...
and you are wondering in the correctness of the moment.
We know the banality of topic ...
Occasionally, the summer rain will pour storm moisture.
It will refill with joy jasmine,
the grass, the moss and roses, the mint and lilacs on front gardens,
and islander girls’ hips, loins, lips and their flutes.
In boredom the cloud will offer its fluffy body to the sunset.
The sunset will accept and will dissolve it.
In solitude these silhouettes are running as long chain ...
It is impossible to explain the memory of love ...
the stuffy muscat nights,
and coolness that is coming after ...
Sorry ...
*Hypertension - high blood pressure.
5.6.2020 New York.