Author of quotes: Denis Balin

By tram tracks, on houses and yards,
past numerous apartments, past all the characters
hands washed of the year, dividing in half,
in memory important dates with all that amassed.

It was winter in different cities,
and snow white, as book pages
rustled under the Windows, in the legs and gloves,
climb under the clothes, as if he were freezing.

Falling snow, our shadows, like Tarot cards,
their long laid out and know what will happen in the final.
Every day we sit on different metro lines
and eyes closed, so the demons don't recognize us.

Early in the morning to get up, minus thirty in the shadow outside the window.
These gray days, routes that will pass on the five;
many people without a king in my head, but with the Kremlin king
a daily tribute to the state, the work "six".

Someone who likes to solve: is there life outside the Garden ring?
Is there time, space and those who still survived?
If you look up, the snowflakes will stick in the face
and footprints in the snow rustle as the basement of the mouse.

In war, all are equal: both Russian, and Chechen, and crest,
dying in combat forever, no save.
But look up and see blue sky hem
and preparing each court.

Was there love in this black-pracharna edge...
Where, since you had a night like this - though vykoli eyes?
Accidentally stripped this life to you and me,
on then and then, - what will remain after us?
In December, as dark as dark in the poetic line,
and words like the tracks, indifferent to who created them.
Write me Vkontakte Pro-life as you're there,
how many years, how many winters, how many close friends and foes.