My spirit wandered in the fall
and fairy enough:
So everyone I met remained
a city – inside me.
At night, the faces made of steel
with loopholes for the fight
were arrogantly leafing through
the pages of my fate.
The book was writhing in the pain,
the soul was wounded hard:
Its feelings in the realm of gloom
were worth a cent, not more.
To God I seemed a ray of light,
to Satan – just a game.
Would you become the capital?
Then close the book, my friend.
May 13, 2011
Не листай меня. Dont leaf me through
© Copyright: Александра Крючкова, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125110509004
Свидетельство о публикации №125110509004
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