In the mirrors of doorways our bodies’ drawing
Goes deplete by the gloom outlines and flawing,
Adding features that send as sacral sign
Shiver down the spine.
Through the uneven light, the pockmarked languor
I keep whisper to you of the ships and anchors,
Beckon you back to sleep and count down the day,
Words remain the same.
A strange fate just has fallen to our feelings:
New reality blossoms from hands and heal us,
In it tails of the comets dance on the sky,
Turning into light.
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Данное произведение является художественным авторским переводом стихотворения "Доли"
http://stihi.ru/2022/12/02/5181
Languor
© Copyright: Май Вихрев, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125071606401
Свидетельство о публикации №125071606401
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