Harvest of experience

…I’m sick and tiered.
My brain is eating by the gabber-thoughts
Like those worms which locate Paradise in decay
With trying to still their demand
To admit an empty joy into a life of maw.
Isn’t it’s a strange?
Like those fact that I’m still alive and hardly sick
Of rumpled sense by thirst of “food”,
Which pulse of saturation is so smart
Like thirst of not incur of silence
Which often visit us in life.
Let those are just stupid reproaches,
An empty promises ore child babble,
Ore maybe it’s just negligible phrases
That are all integrated in their manifold to feel a blank.
So is a seemly happened in my poach brain.
From pure childhood, I felt this blank in it
And trying to kill it like a beast
Which abhorrent to me with one's whole heart.
And when I’ve drunk with child blindness
I’ve basket in my corf of knowledge
All rot of waste with mellow fruits.
Moreover, I’ven’t wit about their poison.
And when I’ve oversee by youthful senses
Then I was wonder with a harvest
Which variety impress’ me over all.
In inflorescence of albescent offspring
There were black spots
Where crawling ugly worms.
And it was strange that
Suchlike combination was interesting at all:
Like known sisters – passion Love
And burning Hate
Which are inseparable in their needs
(Let senses black or white
Will call to one of them ore both each other
Then come together sisters of the grip
Which human calls inspiration).
So I’ve decide to taste all fruits in equal
No matter Black or White of them at all.
And here is four years past
But ration of experience no fast.
I’m going on to still with mellow fruits
Of Art and Science,
In seemly equal with a “black rot”,
That human name as a “dirty language”.
And there is no end for this engagement.
Until there will be two beginnings
We’ll harvest gifts of nature
No matter black or white of them they’ll be.
If only don’t forget to keep their on
In perfect difference in corf of knowledge,
And memorize to every fruit their term
Until a syllable of life will do not gone,
That shadows on to me a longest wail
Of burning soul in languor of wait:
“I’m sick and tiered…”

(september 2004)

(оригинал смотрите в моих стихах,в разделе "философская лирика"под названием "Плоды познания")