From

Devil take, as the sun
Spills from a cloud light!
To me as though again
Eighteen, you are right.

And in all four fingers
Wind - the hooligan -
Jumping with a singing,
Skips along the plain. :)

Why Love is so hard to be defined?
Exactly, main source is the Love.
That's what everyone is up to find,
That is that goes from ground to Above.

The one who makes the active, lusty searches
Coordinates in chances with the one,
Who fell in dreams of something great and gorgeous -
They both do live under the same Sun.

And anyways, affinity of passion,
Or Higher Love - it's all about the deal
That means the most impressive world's action,
That has to be immediately revealed.

We have a dream, you win tonight
Take a chance, take a chance, God is on you side
We pray for you, you like a hurricane
You can win, you can win, you can win the game
Try the impossible, we want a miracle
There's a million fans around
Our dreams free, we want the victory
The hero's back in town

Ohh come on We, we can win the race
Ohh he, fights us face to face
Ohh see, we will win the game
Again, again, and again
Ohh come on We, we can win the race
Ohh we, we will take the chance...

Don't U forget
To take all you wish to take
With yourself into the Mystery!..
Life wasn't a useless fake,
It means so much for the History
Of Earth deeds. What your Spirit needs
Is a new fresh flash water splash,
Again U will find!..
Awakening Consciousness and Mind...

Have U already met you Love?
The Twin Flame, sent from Above?
Did you guess the meaning of Life?
Have you passed it at least a half?..

Search for a Moment
Of Glory of God!
Drive the Existence van!
Any Tree or...

They loved each other with delight
To self-oblivion. Devout
Was their affection, and the bout
Of their strong passion was so bright.

He met her when the Sun was setting,
And rainbow across the sky
Gladdened the kind dreamer’s eye;
High in the clouds a lark was singing.

They met by accident in the garden,
Where thousands of tulips bloomed.
The air was filled with sweet perfume,
Which was so pleasant and so ardent.

Their lips in rapturous elation
Whispered the words of gaiety...

One sage, who talked with inspiration,
Was asked a philosophic question:
What is our life? A game? Enjoyment? Grief?
Having scratched
His bald patch,
Answered he in brief,
“Frankly speaking, my chums,
Life’s a free-fall jump
From mother’s womb
To the eternal house, called the tomb.”

At the Best Planet
Of Solar System
The Atmosphere is heated -
The Purple Children
Are Against the System
Of the outworn tricks and meastreating.

The Revoultion of Spirit,
The Revolution Of the authorities,
The Revolution Of Consciousness:
All the Past is sour,
The New Gears
Do Catch the Cognition in Touchness.

The Awakening,
The Enlightenment,
The Self:
The Renaissance,
The Universal Songs,
The Recoverability of a real Shelf

One who is against
Should Go...

I sit through the long night
In the high tower,
And listen to the autumn rain
Outside my window.

There is no sound of human life,
Save now and then
A belated traveler hastening by.
Through the dark heaven,
A wild goose wings his lonely flight.
In the chill gloom
A cricket calls
The water drips mournfully
From the t'ung trees;
And the blossoms
Flutter sadly
To the rain-soaked earth.

Sadness broods
Over the world.
I fear to walk in my garden,
Lest I see
A...

Всё гораздо сложнее,чем видится в отражениях на пустых лицах.
В больницу,
В больницувбольницу упечь, запереть,словно птиц, птиц, не умеющих летать.
Летать .
Вся горечь в полетах.
В плавном взмахе крыла, разрезающего скукоженный застывший воздух, в слоях ли ванильных облаков и гипнозе турбин.
Вся правда в том,что не смотря на фразу, `miles away from you`, на все те предрассудки и ошибки, на душераздирающие крики чаек по ночам и вальсы розовых медуз в грязнобирюзовых вечерних волнах...

Учтя ( давно уж... ) стиль былой Эпохи,
где переводы ( всех Поэтов ) - бред...,
я выдал ( избегая прочих — вздохи )
свой вариант...- «ценителям», вослед,
где Гамлет, всуе призрачных трагедий,
уж не несёт абсурда — ерунды,
чрез перевод from English, для наследий
Поэзии — как будто..., что бурды!
Когда читать такое — невозможно,
где рифмы, в строфах, следуют не в такт,
но переводчики ( Кому — не сложно! ),
над языком глумятся...- То — уж факт!
А посему: Приходится, дерзая,
родную речь...