And the rotation of the unknown celestial carousel,
And the pulsation of the melody of the old accordion-
All this - kaleidoscope glasses, or watercolors-
A premonition of a secret pattern for fugitives from the house ...
The main thing is mills, tramps, streams,
Wandering cities and wandering stars, -
In a traveling candle light flicker
Pages of migratory prose are born.
The main thing is the live dynamics of the dance,
Slipping of silk from the shoulders and hips,
Sailing with the flow, through the fingers evaporate
Seconds and rivers, nations and gods ...
I saw water-blasting dolphins,
Fountains of splashing champagne in a glass;
In short dreams snatches of what he saw
Again disappeared by the Gates of the Sorrow.
I saw the fury of fluttering flags,
At sunset - endless waves of wheat,
I saw how black snow melts in the ravines
Abandoned cities on distant borders;
The birth of an infant and convulsions of the doomed,
Conversations of the wind with a rusty weathervane,
And the polar glow, and the fusion of the two lovers,
And the forgotten days, the years left under a chaos,
And the rotation of the unknown celestial carousel,
And the pulsation of the melody of the old accordion-
All this - kaleidoscope glasses, or watercolors-
A premonition of a secret pattern for fugitives from the house ...
Running away from himself, but on the razor's edge
Will be lost ... or come back;
For a long time already in what not believing, in a whisper will read a prayer
Finding meaning in this long search is the main thing;
And this is the main thing, maybe, in the heartbeat:
My look - he pacifies your only glance,
And most importantly, probably, the Earth is still spinning -
Mine and your breath are near.
Chekletcov Vadim Viktorovich
