My eyes are glittering,
but not because of pleasure:
The tears stiffened there
long ago.
Exhausted
while it's seeking for the treasure
Day after day dies off
my wrinkled soul.
My hands are tender
like the flower-petals,
But shiver
when I recollect my dole.
I've lost with all this pain
my strongest mettle.
Instead of that I've got
my wrinkled soul.
My life is not so long
to make conclusions.
Yet have the feelings
played the vital role.
Don't want to build
nonsensical illusions,
But still I'm grateful for
my wrinkled soul.
(March 31, 2008)
My Wrinkled Soul
© Copyright: Юлия Бачурина, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108041000306
Свидетельство о публикации №108041000306
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