Публикувано от: bogpan | юли 4, 2018


They swell the buds of chestnut –
like a wave of a sea cave
with headwaters.

Enigmatic orange pierces
slow cloudy clouds.

And everything is so far away –
in the fog are the snow-white tops.
And even thrown sunny
fan –
do not wake up my blood.
Sinking like a root,
I contemplate,
the circle of stars, the sky,
on the green grass
Marble statues are dead
of the ancient gods.
And the song does not rise –
like an eagle of the seekers
Golden Fleece.

One child dies.



  1. The beauty and the depth of this poem is stunning! This world of ours captured in your verses between the swelling the chestnut buds and the death of a child. Masterpiece!

  2. ooh, masterpiece and beauty of your words! in one line you close the whole world of my sadness and fantasy! I am deeply grateful for all the moments of reading!

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