Я видел берег моря, с ума сошедший до меня, до моего прихода к морю, стелившего постель бездомным вечерам. Я моря не люблю за добрый нрав, за послушанье, за вечное пристрастие к мечтам, в нём тонут корабли, везущие людей, уставших жить в своей судьбе. Скучнее моря только скука давно осиротевших чаек, что может быть назойливей их крика, просящего маяк ослепнуть и подвигом своим закрыть сентиментальную историю фигуры флегматичной, восковой, напоминающей осколки Греции античной. Кто думает, что можно долго жить у моря, лукавит и ждёт, когда представится и случай и момент забыть желание своё.
Somewhere up at the head of the waterless river, where I was once or was I, where sleepy eyelids
were heavy with the shadow of ages waiting for the skies and the night lost its way, and I lost myself
in happy peace of an abandoned life, and faces of friends cold with death came back to the earth,
and we met, and the years of our memories with their hads joined were dancing below us, above
the abyss of all that was lost, in a colourful ring of tired moments, and the silence pressed its
forehead against the dawn, and a swarm of dragonflies, those visible essences of the sentinel, were
on guard at the final dream.
Last words, your house, a rational fortress, are entwined with silence, as if the ivy both with
the sun and rain made profit for the glory, as if the life hasn’t passed another side, but by
the sleep, by the superstition of the past years with such rapidity of breath without name or
father’s name, with one alarming ah! Who was taught, let say goodbye, indifference has no
idols, there is a room with no exit and entrance, and its walls aren’t painted white color, rather
no, more likely foggy color, and the suffocating emptiness suits your breath,and the room
and body, is swaying, like a dandelion in the wind. Behind the length of minutes both the
time and separation are hiding, it’s accomplished in the caressed tiredness of nights, in the
incomprehensibility, lack of will, we need only a point, your eyes by the pupils of commas
don’t make the reality slow, but extend, and breathing of unspoken words becomes
a stumbling block, as an accomplished fact, as a subject, standing at the entrance to the
door of predicate events. And the unprecedented anguish, it had been here before, but who
perceived it seriously, at that time we were just mistaken and took its majesty Queen of
emptiness like the spineless sadness. People come and go, and the abyss is widening,
growing, pulling as a magnet and there is a wish to disrupt before the deadline, before the
eternal predictability, such as you, but only still standing on my feet with a vigorous posture.
The elusive smile, like a shadow, walked through the children's face, sorry, in your dream
you played and forgot, you are unaware that it's forever, because the pain, like a ball, barely
throw – it falls to the ground.
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