Author of quotes: Absalom Underwater. Page 2

A man goes on the road
wiping cheeks tears,
and not see his happiness,
standing on the roadside,
modestly downcast eyes,
and very waiting for something.

Rasprostranyatsya
almost half of the world
my land, my country
I did not Supplement with formula.

One of us is in fact interesting
someone else's life? Excitement and shame,
a strange mixture of doubt and offense,
mental Hvorost lingering song?
Will he find the meaning of mystery
the intricacies of adversity,
which is getting closer and more dangerous
and besides death there is no deliverance?
Look in my heart the flicker of hope
rinse the winds the sail,
and stars scattering into the empty skies
send Shine a careless hand.
And guiding them on the required path
someone else's soul, of her forget.

All the days as days - a dull procession
run, a barely audible rustling steps,
already-read history page
the dust of Eternity, History nothing.
There's grief has worn off, and anxiety long
a familiar chill fades, doesn't sound;
there is a Time muffled sotvorila shutters
and on the roads puts "bricks".

Easier long to convince the mosquito
what's buzzing at night unethical
than finally Wake up
and to kill the annoying bastard.

No ordinary words.
Ordinary people,
souls who do not know of witchcraft.

I was brushing my thoughts
as the groom - thoroughbred horse
and so they kick.

A blank day is not prone to doubts;
crib life - he did not verse;
familiar vows drawn,
I spent it without regret.

I love spring, the murmur of the brook,
appreciate, when it comes to grace,
and the angel who watches over me,
try not to tire too.

I'm so attached to life, to the hustle and bustle.
Mystery Sunday lunch
dearer the heavenly spheres and grace them.

The calf does not know that he is
calf. Do not count the number of legs,
not aware of the presence of the tail.

How to make in my life was not hypocrisy?
Looking into the eyes of a hungry tiger, don't act insipid;
stomping the Ground, don't think she's indifferent;
dealing with people, remember their Creator.

I feel sorry for people who don't understand poetry.
But maybe the poet was not born yet?
Then I feel sorry for them doubly.

The weight of life bends down my back -
and the Earth, for fear of the same weight
rounded beneath my feet.