taking a bus from the school to my house
dirt on their shoes, too many people...
a child's cry... someone coughs...
sky is grey, the world is little
one hundred trips
accross the town
through bitter folk
their looks and litter
so many years ago,
and still I question
how did we live
among the souls
so bitter?!
dreaming of wind, from here to the stars
imagination - unrestricted
sound of steps...some dog barks...
I fly away, I'm unafflicted
one hundred trips
accross the world
through winter Steppe
her grace and wisdom
so many years to go
and shall I question
how will she live
without my soul
so gone
beyond the whispers of her songs?
I, Kazakh, will always miss my home...
Whispers of her songs...
© Copyright: Ди Байжанов, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112081400681
Свидетельство о публикации №112081400681
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