Active Member - Poema Лирицс транслатион то енглисх

Poema

When a song is born always something changes,
some enchantment cast to grab
the white paper and your voice,
open your ears, and listen to your heart, and open up
at the open space, from the confined universe keep
only the road, to touch a solid ground.
Search to find your thought and then live,
the every word uninvited and if possible shoot
like a bullet through the night·
keep writing even if the pen ran dry from drowsiness.
Don't wait for your muse to come again tonight
write alone and if she comes she'll find
a poem undone, quietly sung,
a little miracle, your mirale, cut and sewed
not to be another love song,
but a mumbling, moan of the dream and nightmare.
 
Poema means a great escape,
aim, terminal, knowledge, fantasy, rage.
It means song and waste of dream,
means play with words, the golden saving,
lyrics with meaning or drunk that jump out of a bleeding
wound.
It ain't just an opinion, think and stop asking
- they say it's better to throw a stone at luck instead of words.
It's my prop, a wedge in pride
and a trivial lie with truth as sourdine,
it's the bizarre, if your recall, nightingale
that's whistling the words to me and the verse ends.
That's why anything you write any more leaves you
you listen to a door that's opening and closing
someone entered or left and to find the answer,
read it and you'll understand.
 


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