АНДРЕЙ БЕЛЫЙ
‘МОИ СЛОВА’
ANDREY BELIY
‘MY WORDS’
My words are nothing,
But a fount of pearls,
That seems futile
Among the dreams
So moonlike…
The flight of bird,
Whose wayward whimsy wing
Is caught by mist
For its bold thick’s
Obtruding.
Are dreams of mine –
Just sighing kind of lie,
Or just are tears’ glacier
Of burning dawn,
Or giant not quite real,
Who does in rage attack
The midgets poor,
As if horrendous whirlwind.
My love’s – a chime,
A calling of sad kind,
That resonates and melts
Into thin air…
A dream quite vague,
That pleasingly reminds
A dream once seen,
And suddenly re-flared.
Andrey Beliy My words
© Copyright: Марина Фарамазян, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125010700877
Свидетельство о публикации №125010700877
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