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E Tain Poem
Foggy November was scattered by snow.
In such weather it is good to drink a grog and be silent.
And a plaid is wrapping me so gently.
I listen to breath and a silence of evening to write you letters.
I write, warming fingers by breath -
the shiver is the companion of heart excitement.
On a clean sheet
my thoughts-wanderers designate the Shelter:
where is the truth,
where is lie
And here will be Lie that all, as before,
That I don't miss you,
to me all the same.
That it's not me who is falling asleep in hope.
That it's not me who is loving you for a long time.
I'll lie, preserving my pride
that I haven't affairs for love-games.
I'll lie that "competitor" not excite me.
And saying lie about the main thing
I'll add the Truth.
And the Truth here will be that everything, as before -
simple cares, the house and garden.
That it's necessary to prepare winter clothes.
That it's cold in my house.
That the autumn here is extremely soft
and our old garden would please you
by abundance of paints and apples on branches.
Well, here I'll finish the story.
The sheet has ended.
Thoughts-wanderers became the mirror-halls of the Lie and Truth .
I hope : your sensitive fingers will grope a nerve of my naked soul.
The thawn snow adds a fog.
The grog has ended.
The fireplace is dimming.
Perhaps, enough of the self-deception.
- my letters were burned ,
undispatched.
Copyright © E Tain | Year Posted 2008
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Details |
E Tain Poem
I dreamt of you at this night.
And the dreams was uneasy, sensitive, damp, and excited the forgotten feelings.
Exitement...
I've woken up, - all is filled by a moonlight.
HUGE! White sphere send to me her silver streams, kissing my skin by speck of light
and... the internal fire responded deep in my body.
I felt myself like eternal water going from everywhere on call of the Moon .
Probably with awakening I will forget that I dreamt of you... if the Moon will store my
secret.
Copyright © E Tain | Year Posted 2008
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Details |
E Tain Poem
Leaves of trees
so tired for a summer
is writhing rusting .
Chestnuts are blossoming again,
trusted in luxury of heat.
believed in madness of the weather,
they are opening in the autumn,
as sign of the last tired love
and...
are scorching completely.
White candles!
the trees as if compose a fire
by naked branches,
and
petal
by
petal
-
the former hopes
are descending
in
the
Oblivion.
Carelessly,
Without sense,
Without a seed ...
there is the sentence of the last love
Copyright © E Tain | Year Posted 2008
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