БИТОН - НИТИ
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Всегда шел напрямик, в какой-то миг
споткнулся, задумался, но не оглянулся.
С тех пор, стал задумываться чаще,
но также оставался не слепым, но и не зрячем.
Впрочем, в этой пелене сомнений
понял, что не усомнился под толщей впечатлений,
на перекрестке мнений, слушал из недр своих
снова не зная, кто я: мудрец или псих?
свой стих отдавал я в бездну
в ответ - мне голоса и я получал надежду,
как и прежде, все по той же тропе,
но уверенней на много и вы со мною все.
Вне этой суматохи и суматохи внутри,
по пути к тишине, а она нужна ли?
Все же всегда было так легко и просто,
а тут тупик, острый и что потом, после?
Зачем мне все это? я не знал ответа.
Все казалось бредом, далеко где-то,
ведь не жалел никогда, думал не про меня,
ошибался или хотел ошибаться я.
Получив мечту, так и не узнал:
Что? Зачем? И почему? Но чувствовал, что нужна,
а может и все понял, но тогда я был болен
до нее волен, а с ней в оковах, но в поле
и что же мне надо, чтобы я был доволен?
кто я: плакса иль воин? Я остаюсь собой,
в лабиринте под землей, я остаюсь собой!
Но согреваем мечтой, видя в ней покой.
"Хватит, нет, постой, хватит, стоп, стой!", -
голоса со стороны,
а я снова в пути, плету свои нити,
я снова в пути плету эти нити.
Always went straight, at a moment
He stumbled, thought, but did not look back.
Since then, he began to think more often,
But he also did not remain blind, but not sight.
However, in this veil of doubts
I realized that I did not doubt the thickness of impressions,
at the intersection of opinions, listened from his bowels
Without knowing who I am: the sage or crazy?
I gave my verse into the abyss
in response - I have voiced and I got hope,
as before, all along the same path,
But more confidently for a lot and you are all with me.
Outside of this turmoil and bustle inside,
On the way to silence, is it needed?
Still, it was always so easy and simple
And here is a dead end, sharp and then, after?
Why do I need all this? I did not know the answer.
Everything seemed delirium, far somewhere,
After all, I never spared, I thought not about me,
I was wrong or I wanted to make a mistake.
Having received a dream, I never found out:
What? What for? And why? But I felt that I needed
Or maybe I understood everything, but then I was sick
It’s free to her, and with her in the shackles, but in the field
And what do I need to be satisfied?
Who am I: Plaxa il Warrior? I remain myself
In the maze underground, I remain myself!
But we warm the dream, seeing peace in it.
"Enough, no, wait, enough, stop, stand!" -
voices from the side,
And I'm on the way again, my weavers,
I am again in the way of the weave of these threads.
He stumbled, thought, but did not look back.
Since then, he began to think more often,
But he also did not remain blind, but not sight.
However, in this veil of doubts
I realized that I did not doubt the thickness of impressions,
at the intersection of opinions, listened from his bowels
Without knowing who I am: the sage or crazy?
I gave my verse into the abyss
in response - I have voiced and I got hope,
as before, all along the same path,
But more confidently for a lot and you are all with me.
Outside of this turmoil and bustle inside,
On the way to silence, is it needed?
Still, it was always so easy and simple
And here is a dead end, sharp and then, after?
Why do I need all this? I did not know the answer.
Everything seemed delirium, far somewhere,
After all, I never spared, I thought not about me,
I was wrong or I wanted to make a mistake.
Having received a dream, I never found out:
What? What for? And why? But I felt that I needed
Or maybe I understood everything, but then I was sick
It’s free to her, and with her in the shackles, but in the field
And what do I need to be satisfied?
Who am I: Plaxa il Warrior? I remain myself
In the maze underground, I remain myself!
But we warm the dream, seeing peace in it.
"Enough, no, wait, enough, stop, stand!" -
voices from the side,
And I'm on the way again, my weavers,
I am again in the way of the weave of these threads.