LIKE A DANDY OF LONDON DRESSED AS A SOLDIER OF LOVE IN SPRING

Leaving a rubbery trail on the concrete, spitting lazy smoke from his nozzles, He ambiguously drowns in the sunset's halo, forgetting the cramped ground-level hangar; Exchanging squares for supreme freedom, giving life-giving light to the lands, He serves as the guardian of that bell tower, with which only birds fly in kinship.

Leaving a rubbery trail on the concrete, spitting lazy smoke from his nozzles, He ambiguously drowns in the sunset's halo, forgetting the cramped ground-level hangar; Exchanging squares for supreme freedom, giving life-giving light to the lands, He serves as the guardian of that bell tower, with which only birds fly in kinship.

Peaky Blinders

Peaky Blinders

You see, every plot is different. One flew away, another remained. The rowan berries ripened, and each bunch blushes with anger and bows in pity. But we, like wings, puffing out our sleeves, fly, leaving our native fire pit, and confuse words of joy with sorrow, until we find refuge again.

interesting street

As in previous years, storms decide everything. And the steep stern rises on the crest, And your island disappears into the distance. I wish I could not shake off the remnants of my mind from the tossing, And hide from sharp memories; And not see through the wide-open window, Not know beneath me the rocky bottom Of a solitary fleeting fate, Not catch the cloth Of Cutty Sark, slipped into eternity—that short shirt.

Whisper, hum a melody of sleep And lose yourself in the open window frame, Where wild fogs roam, Where the unclimbed peak is dimly visible And oceans float beneath your feet; And the earth's unshed tears are bitter, And your ships wheeze alongside them, Moored at the docks forever, And memory struggles – how could you Deal so inhumanely

The universe is all of us. It is infinite and tangled. A merging of sun and darkness, from the first gorilla to Newton. And the past has not passed in it, and there will be news of the future; good meets evil, but the sap rises to the branches

Down to every detail, down to every little thing, These days will live within me: All the smells, sounds, vivid images— My memory will retain everything. But memory, alas, is strangely selective, And at odds with reason: What seemed important fades into the trash, But long retains triviality

All sorts of important events happened, The twists and turns of fate: Days that sparkled with the brightest colors, And dark, bitter days. And all the sensations of those days were acute, It seemed I could never forget, And the imprint of memory—all those colorful feelings— I will forever preserve within myself

There's no sense of June: All clouds, thunderstorms, all darkness. All the drops slide down like bindweed, Rain pounds against my window. Dampness presses down, And strikes the rebellious like hail. Where did June, the spendthrift, lose All the lightness of summer's ringing notes?

Fleetingness