Poems

That is nothing

Give me a hand this time, do you feel my existence? Can't find it?

Wait a minute, let me get ready.
Give me a hand this time, do you feel my existence? Can't find it?
In your birth blind eyes there is only wrong darkness. It's not it, it's hair.
Here are my fingers, touch it now, - no, no, no,
- it's not, it's a throat, it is a clay of a sculpture
of a venom believing artist, it's not fire, it's me - my youth.
 
A little beneath happiness lies cut off headless lover of pain
What are you looking for there? It's nothing, it's sorrow;
It is a river with no mark of women’s love on the chest,
It has become frozen blue on the grass, just to the right of it, over there
Give me a hand, yes, it's a chest, put your hand over there, that's the heart.
There is love, there is memory, there is happiness, there is the symphony of love;
Oh, there was love in the chest, there were memories, everything was there, except you were not there.