Рецензии на произведение «Лина Костенко Мне кажется, что с нами всё не так»
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It seems, that we are different to ones,
Being in past - the people, cities, pebbles.
And here's a whisper: every sacred chance,
Which you believed - died in the ages.
As water, seeping though the finger's rame,
When you try it to scoop up - all in vain.
But there on palm the visions flame,
As dreams, imprisoned in a dwell.
And the eternity - a curtain heavy,
Which hardly could be stand through...
Which could smash you in your endeavour.
And why you dare? Losing hope, true,
In sacred, saint and holy chance.
Say me - and I believe at once,
That something's wrong that day with us.
Людмила 31 12.12.2016 19:36 Заявить о нарушении