The last poem Leonid Filatov ... incredibly deep lines about life! Bashny.Net

As a rule, we, being young and in full health, rarely heads in thoughts about the meaning of life. Maybe that's right. We enjoy life and take from it everything possible and, when we stand before a choice, prefer terrestrial mining. However, all of us, fortunately or unfortunately, death. Sooner or later every person comes face to face with the approach of the inevitable. And then on the sick bed suddenly comes enlightenment and you start to summarize the past years.

This poem is a famous Soviet and Russian actor, poet, writer and film director Leonid Filatov wrote just before his death. Prolonged illness prompted the actor on a very deep thoughts. Filatov could die immediately after a major operation, but survived thanks to those who have been in these difficult moments with him and whom he wrote this poem bright ...



klyatyh One year too many years,
I sometimes crawled from his hospital bed.
Raking his fragments and splinters
and a reconstructed skeleton.

And steal myself from sensitive nurses,
nostrils scenting the pungent smell will,
I ran to the two-year granddaughter Ola there,
on life-smelling space.

We Olya went to a children's park,
sit on your favorite swing,
jammed juice, ice cream eating,
staring at people walking dogs.

Attractions were a dime a dozen,
but the day was burning, and the sun cooled off,
Olya tired, lagged
and softly moaned: "Grandfather, wait a minute».

Leaving behind the Lord's day,
I returned to the walls of the hospital visit,
but in the Chamber heard the voice of Olin:
"Give me your hand, my grandfather, my grandfather, wait ...»

And I godil, godil how have the strength,
and in the next bed is not godili,
grew sickly, dried up, withered, left,
The weather is not nobody asked.

When I smell a burning sensation in the chest,
I see on the other end of the field
me rushing little Olya
to scream: "Grandfather-ah, wait-and ...»

And I gozhu I still gozhu
and seems sterplyu any flour,
while the tiny hand
in his battered hand still holding.

Well, when there is a person for whom you want to live well. Our relatives and friends - the sun among the most protracted storm. Let us appreciate during the life of those who are next to us. Share this philosophical poem with your friends.

via ofigenno ru