there are moments, when it is not worried
Fatal us life thunderstorm.
Someone put his hands on her shoulders,
Someone clearly look into your eyes…
And instantly everyday sink,
As if in a dark abyss without a bottom…
And slowly rise over the precipice
Seven colors arc silence…
And tune muffled and young
The concealed affect the silence
Lulled to sleep by the strings of life
tense, how harp, people.
July 1912
