Rus Articles Journal

Just about love of

the Cap ridiculous. Shoulders fragile arches -

the Image a dotted line among one thousand persons.

Nervously squeeze the cold hands

Cold of the tamed titmouses long ago.

The look became puzzled. Caresses prickly

of Vrossyp the crowd flying by.

To the left step. To the right. To the abyss vigorous,

Right there back, a step catching a raid.

Hi, native! You what, was frightened? -

I touch by Heart it, slightly breathing.

I was late for the trifle,

As you reached? Let`s go slowly? .

Houses that new? At school? How mother? You tell

to me, you tell everything .

Everything, as at all. And the yesterday`s drama -

Just a splinter of glass soul.

Park, a promenade, aerated water, candies -

Ya as the fop, I buy you God me will forgive to

. I yet not inveterate,

Only you You will forgive me, the child?

Evening. The city is crossed out by ink.

Are caustic trees, cars, bridges. there is no

me any more But stars do not grow dim

In reflections of the old and silly moon.

From Blok (but too about love)

the Stray beam, having cut mornings flint,

Broke my gone blind window.

I cried I, swallowing of rooms of a darkness,

Having covered with hands the dead person.

And I sobbed with happiness and misfortune

About about what I also did not understand.

I only a portrait with a sapphire ligature,

As sky gift, everything pressed to lips.

Also ironed again autumn braids a struyenye,

I kissed on silent lips.

I so asked, return though for a moment,

But you were as before it is cold.

To what now reproaches and doubts?

All in the past nowadays, passed youth.

your person in his Saint shine

the hand was cleared by me the table.

Night pours thoughts. It is disturbing

Kisses memory to me melancholy.

I fights a bird in a cage of leather

Slightly below than the left nipple.

In particles of dreams, in a smoke of loss

Before me her eyes.

I on a cheek from a pale

cotton wool Tear salty dew.

And bitter words under a sigh blows.

that day the killed love

Asked for the house a dog of old

From the sides dropping blood.

Whined, it is a pity howled,

under a door settled Then.

I so under a snow cover,

To dog paradise was carried away.

Burning all decayed bridges, -

you Leave forever Billeting! I do not trust!

A however, leave! No! Wait a moment! I do not want

Ya! And also the earth spins,

I quietly snow streams on fields

I dreams sleeplessness follow to me ways.

I a moonlight torments mine to a shower.

A on hours morning without five,

But night is black in an icy cold at dawn. I am afraid of

I - I will not sustain and I will be afraid I am afraid of

I - how to live to me without love! I Burn down with

letters, I play indifference,

I Go on in vain se la vi

Striving for Paradise Lost.

That will be farther - I do not know

It was not his first young love which incidentally flashed on a schoolyard,

By the form modest - somewhere Maria, and mind not striking - from simple, from a plow.

Cooked to it chicken soup, washed its things, sometimes ironed it on the turning gray hair,

But never, never said that it loves it.

He sometimes in a fit of temper and aloud called it a gray mouse, and often was ashamed of it, he wanted to

the passionate celebutante, vigorous passions, exits in trite light,

of Silly conversations about literature, intellectual disputes and that She told

to it as he is exclusive and clever.

Banal soup, household disorder, falsity of world around

Awakened in it a devil who comfortably was arranged long ago in his head.

I then he got drunk, cursed god, called the wife the silly woman, uncomprehending it,

Left, came back, calmed down, thinking that she will forgive him.

And it, having squeezed bloodless lips, forgave as mother of vyplakanny eyes Maria forgave.

But to it it was a little - because the devil became his best friend without whom it could not any more.

He indulged in defects, despondency, and in thirty three, having understood suddenly,

That a half of his life passed for nothing, decided to commit suicide.

But once having come home, as usual from work, he saw that something not so.

In a case is empty, a familiar smell of perfume and on a table a note Farewell, dear .

I here he understood that he got desired freedom, but lost the bored love,

Which unostentatiously lived in this small house.

A lonely portrait, a curl of a fair hair, an echo of noiseless steps -

Everything reminded of it. My God, but why I did not store the finest on light -

Love! Why it was so silly, and considered himself cleverest?!

What to do to me now? How to be? How further to live?

It is absent. And the trace caught a cold. There was only a grief of memoirs.

Ten of the years lived together. Everything endured - both pleasures, and grieves.

the Footpath on which it went, a lilac bush which so loved.

the Grey mouse by the name of Lyubov here does not live any more.]