This is how they die,
having thrown the arms widely.
The August wind will lie quietly on the chest.
There is no road.
No paradise, no hell, no sound, no memory.
They will forget everything that's been.
You will lie silently,
the trees and people will keep silent.
The lark will sing a funeral song highly.
There will be no day, no night,
and there will be probably no words.
You will throw them,
they are extra in this story.
It makes no sense to pray.
The sins not prayed are like stones,
they will drag you to dead-end prison cells of redemption.
It is a perfect punishment –
to die like this in this August temple,
to disappear,
simply not to exist.
Юлiя Смаль - Так вони помирають Eng ver
© Copyright: Марина Чиянова, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120081505383
Свидетельство о публикации №120081505383
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