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The Sixth Sense

Шестое чувство

Fine is the wine that loves us,
and the bread baked for our sake,
and the woman who lies and loves us
when she’s finished her tweaking games.

But sunset clouds, rose
in a sky turned cold,
calm like some other earth?
immortal poems?

All inedible, non-potable, un-kissable.
Time comes, time goes,
and we wring our hands
and never decide, never touch the circle.

Like a boy forgetting his games
and watching girls in the river
and knowing nothing but eaten
by desires stranger

Than he knows — like a slippery creature
sensing unformed wings
on its back and howling helpless
in the bushes and brambles — like hundred

Years after hundred years — how long, Lord,
how long ? — as nature and art
cut, and we scream, and slowly, slowly,
our sixth-sense organ is surgically born.

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The games

Council's kind, on a bloody arena / for the third day the games are not over, / and completely got crazy hyenas, / breathe with ancient spite anacondas. / / And the elephants, bears and tigers / drunk of blood, battlers ready for sparrings, / bull is strong and experienced fighter - /...

My Thoughts

Why did they come to me my thoughts together? / Like thieves at night in gloomy dusk of suburbs, / Like kites they grim and sinister, they whether / are here for the vengeance fierce and savage? / / The hope has left, the dreams have fleed forever, / My eyes have opened in a great excit...

In the skies

Days have flashed in the golden inflame, / And she-bear was fleeing at night, / Overtake her, prince, overtake, / Lasso her, to the saddle her try. / / Lasso her, to the saddle her try / To strap, in the blue tower at home / Point out at she-bear-night / To your giant Herculean dog....

Recollection

Out at sea, at noon, / sparks dance and the sun glows, / and the bird that's flown too far / sobs with speechless eyes. / / The green sea lured her out, / covered her eyes with mist, / and now she must fly and fly / to the end, high over the silent sea. / / Whimsical whirlwinds...

The Rat

The icon candle flickers, small, / the half-dark nursery is horribly quiet. / The frightened child / hides in the pink lace bed. / / What's that? The house spirit coughing? / He lives there, he's little, he's bald... / Agh! A vicious rat creeps slowly / from behind the wardrobe. / ...

The Choice

He who builds the tower will fall. / He will fall straight down, terribly, / and at the deep bottom of the world's well / he will curse himself for his madness. / / He who pulls the tower down will be crushed, / flattened by stone shards; / and left to lie there, by All-Seeing God, / ...