No time to rest: from now I'm on the run,
A hostage of all that unspoken words,
Who's lost in that a bit confusing plan
Of moments, places, numbers and billboards.
No time to breathe. All rules can go to hell.
My hand to shoulder in the crumbly chalk
Of other's hopes, who light my empty cell
In that november haze and chilly fog.
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Данное произведение является художественным авторским переводом стихотворения "Нет времени" http://www.stihi.ru/2018/11/06/765
No time
© Copyright: Май Вихрев, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120022901004
Свидетельство о публикации №120022901004
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