; Edmund Szklarska, with gratitude and light.
No one is blaming and not knowing about,
I touch the glass, and my ashes in his hand
Is alive, like a phoenix, shakes his hand.
He was not lucky, he was again on the fire.
And again at the beginning rumbles bolt
And swaying to the beat of the clock.
I am the same as he was, only to fly in his hand,
Is not only missing a finger on his right hand.
He was punished, and will be with him so to the end -
He had so long dealt with foreign entities.
Do not shudder, it's me.
I only remember one thing - your skin like silk.
Heaven-shore, the city-time
Is not seen, we pushed off from the bottom.
Baked dew on a black resin
And the trace is the love of the land -
And the steps are difficult, and arduous cover
And swinging hands and scales.
Let creaking wheel, me-what does that matter -
Under my feet ill the water.
You wanted to run to the Arctic seas,
Day and night to help the warships,
So like a seagull to boil on the wing ...
A is now just a puddle on the ground Chillmere.
And taught me to fly,
Those who are chained to the stone.
And taught me to love,
S sunken noses.
And the sky did not fly,
And do not fall in love until dawn,
And not afraid to drink and sing,
Scary to know that he would not answer.
No one is blaming and not knowing about,
I write to you. Come on and read.
Even if the word grind in the sand
If the salt on the paper and the pain in his fist.
And oozes into the glass screaming crows in the wind,
And not scary at all, though I will not die.
I am the same as he was, only his voice was quiet,
Pokololsya in heavy sticks triptych.
Reproachful glance returned home.
Somebody remember saying that he was not the first time
To take us with him, going to bed.
And I'm left to write, the whole hand.
Let ohripnet archangel, shouting: "Do not sin!"
Flame the Devils because of the soul,
Me-what does that matter, I'm locked up
Moving head, repeating: "Forgive."
Remembering you, become voiceless,
As impossible to sleep without your hair ...
Kogotochkom scratching closely soul
You knows no happiness in my burqa.
Fowler willy-nilly, fate brought,
I throw to the winds the craft.
Do not tremble, say goodbye and bless,
Looking at the track to me, Scrabble glass to the blood.
And taught me to fly,
Those who are chained to the stone.
And taught me to love,
S sunken noses.
Only we do not take the skies,
Only we still alone.
We - the aging voice,
Off again in the east.
And taught me to fly,
Those who are chained to the stone.
And taught me to love,
S sunken noses.
And the sky did not fly,
And do not fall in love until dawn,
And not afraid to drink and sing,
Scary to know that he would not answer.