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She came in, very gray ...
Eduard Asadov. em>
She came in, very gray,
Wearily sat by the fire,
And then said, "I do not know,
Why do you torture me.
After all, I'm young, beautiful,
And I want to live, I want to love.
And you humbles me strength
And beat up the blood.
Wilt thou be silent? And I am silent,
Will you have me live, love chasing?
I can not be tired.
Why do you torture me?
After all, you love, love, love,
Love heart splinters,
You can not judge, love is not judged.
You can not? Leave your "impossible".
Throw a bunch of its prohibitions,
Ceychas, even in jest have sinned:
Insomnia do not torture yourself,
Go crazy, write poems.
Or love to recognize that you,
And if the feeling is not honored,
You let me go at will,
Do not kill, and let ».
And the woman, almost sobbing,
Gray strands damage repeated:
"I do not know why you torture me?».
He was speechless.
The usual gloom
Suddenly, the storm broke.
Surprise, and no time to think:
"I'm sorry, I do not know you.
I did not put the shackles on you »
And suddenly I asked breathlessly:
"What is your name? Tell me who you are? »
She answered, "Your soul».
If the soul asks more poetry:
"How many of those with whom you can go to bed." Eduard Asadov
"What a luxury - not be in vogue." Elena Mironova
"We have to live by the sea, Mom." Vera Polozkova
via www.adme.ru/vdohnovenie-919705/nado-zhit-u-morya-mama-719560/
