You’d sought mysterious instinct
As felon vagabonds we love again
…
Unfledged the youngest nom-de-plume
You like a feather floats in the sky
And wafting through the open air
We never love each other on the stage
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For heaven’s sake I overcome temptation
I shall be playing with the naughty Time
Thine slightest touch I never take it
I’ll catch it only in my dream…
…
I wanna be befriend and shadow of you
I feel the impulse of your heart again
And every day I talk with silent trees
I’d come to Thee but little rather late
…
Dull fields in winter whisper
All twigs are frozen today
I heard dim sounds only
The snowflakes are glistering in vain
…
A. Glukhov. Self-portrait with horns. 2019. Kolobova collection in St. Petersburg.
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A silver thread was sewn by azure light
I won’t tell the truth next morning
At dawn we start to dance again
And listening to the howl music…
…
Yet I am standing lonely on field
These days are nothingness for me
So many visionary precious…gone
Am I Thine lone stranger now?
…
In slumber-land to Thee I blow breeze
So many birds keep flying lordly
In deepest forests they lit hearts
As madman we shall dance and dance
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One bird had brought to me a Message
The hugest vastness in Thine Dream
Who stands on cemetery yard?
Too late I came to thatched hut…
…
We won’t stride together in this world
Thee cannot send a miserable message
Beneath the tree I’m listening your heart
I stroke grass with silent meditation
…