Far

Sometimes Logic is too boring,
And religion is a lie...
When a soul is heavily storming,
There is not so much to die

Anyhow, we got to find
Our circumstance exception,
And according to the mind,
Make the worthiest needed action

Conflict of a misty dust,
Called the blooming star,
Recognizes human's last
To all that is too far...

There Is the Moon,
That's reflexing on February snow,
That is singing up high all alone,
I will come to You soon

There is the Moon,
That is shining on somebody's face,
That is watching humanity race,
Just reversing a noon

There is the night,
That is calling for Brightening Light,
That is waiting for heat of the Sun,
For God whims have been done

There is the Time,
That in Universe doesn't exist,
But on Earth it is hidden in mist,
Deep inside in the mind

There is the sky...

Любимый мой, ты спишь - сырой, землёй объят,
И заметает снег твою могилу ...
Единственный, ...как я тебя любила -
Жаль, времени волну не откатить назад.

Я без тебя душой на крыльях не парю,
В горах без нас цветёт душистый вереск.
Ажуром папоротник расплескал листву,
И моё сердце в твой "уход" не верит.

В земле - уже пятнадцать диких декабрей
Ты мёрзнешь - я согреть тебя не в силах.
В страданиях, ощущаю всё ясней -
Твой дух мне помогает выжить, милый.

Впервые после долгих...

The armour glinted harshly dull
In beams of setting sun,
Its polished parts sat smartly on
To shield the solid One.

He stood there rock,
A metal spur
On stones of mighty wall,
Beyond of that came ever high
The flags of City Hall.

His squinted eyes were watching far,
His hand was grasping bow,
Cast arrows ramped for piercing flight
And sword –
For clashing blow.

Those craven foes…
They dared not to come to Warrier’s sight.
They shrank in holes
And damned cursed
With voices...

I have wished in days when I am left in sorrow,
there would be a piece of heart for me to borrow.
From the person of admire,
whom I love and trust my soul in fire.
Falling into wild discussion,
in despair resolving puzzle of corruption.
I have wished, if only I could bear no stress,
to keep strength I still posses.
Until innocence of air refresh my mind,
just before I realize as far as I was blind.

Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face!
Clouds of the west – sun there half of hour high –
I see you also face to face.

Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious you are to me!
On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross , returning home,, are more curious to me than you suppose,
And you that shell cross from shore to shore years hence are more to me, and more in my meditations, that you might suppose.

2

The impalpable sustenance of me from...

Yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they're here to stay
Oh I believe in yesterday
Suddenly I'm not half a man I used to be
There's a shadow handing over me
Oh yesterday came suddenly
Why she had to go I don't know
She wouldn't say
I said something wrong
Now I long for yesterday
Yesterday love was such an easy game to play
Now I need a place to hide away
Oh I believe in yesterday

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they’re here to stay
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be,
There’s a shadow hanging over me.
Oh, yesterday came suddenly.

Why she had to go I don’t know she woldn’t say.
I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday.

Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play.
Now I need a place to hide away.
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Mm mm mm mm mm.



Вчерашний день

Вчера...

Words, don't come easy, to me,
how can I find a way,
to make you see,
I love you
words don't come easy

Words, don't come easy, to me,
this is the only way,
for me to say
I love you
words don't come easy

Well I'm just a music man,
melodie 's so far my best friend
but my words are calling out longer
I reveal my heart to you and
hope that you'll believe it's true, 'cause

Words, don't come easy to me,
how can I find a way,
to make you see,
I love you
words don't come easy...

Для редактора,
озабоченного передовицей,
он никто, какой-то Джон Мильтон,
затерявшийся на литературной обочине.

Актриса глицериновую слезу
из-за него не проливала ни разу.

О нем хранит молчание
радио и телевещание.

Нет ни досье, ни файлов секретных.
Нет псевдонимов народу известных.

Никому не интересно
узнать его настоящее имя.

Жив ли он, мертв ли он,
не проверяет никто.

Возможно в чулане
детективы найдут его труп
с разбитым лицом,
с открытыми глазами...