I’m like wild eyed boy in prison.
It’s so hot and it’s so cold.
I am mad, and that’s the reason
Why I was poet always called.
My prison is my poetry and poems
And I don’t want to go away.
I want to stay there with those columns:
And that’s my cross and that’s my way.
Oh poetry, I want to stay your prisoner forever,
You can’t put of my poet’s brains.
You want me to leave my prison cell, however,
I want to stay to death with chains.
And you can’t take away my language.
You can’t destroy my living way.
Not you, but I chose you to make a massage—
I’ll be great poet anyway.
January 2009
Arkadi Kuleshov. To Poetry
© Copyright: Павел Каскенов, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115112900822
Свидетельство о публикации №115112900822
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