Surrealism

< Felix Komarov



When - a doctor will tell me that,
What would live more sunrises ...
Life bird flies over the heat ...
And extinguished eyes without seeing the answer.

A pause may God not let me,
All complete a dashing blow ...
How to die from the higher castes?
No matter how - any death us freely

Life is a gift - you can not buy, not prodash-
Banal is a saying.
But if you say life is green mung ...
Surrealism fun within.

But look - all surrealism
And while the liquid flows,
And white light as a thief runs out of prisms,
And a rainbow over silent paradise.

I wanted to write a sad poem,
We will not delve into the cause.
It is a grain of sand, and the sand around
And we are in the desert back stoop.

And on the back of crisp matzo,
I'm so, when the grandmother said.
And the angry look of the Universal Father,
Although hundreds of miles is not visible fat.

Of those who left, did not reach one
And I will melt on the doorstep ...
At some life -So I repeated,
Perhaps this was summed up.

Weep fireworks land.
Daubed virgin will dance.
Violinist and cast anxious middle ....
And the coffin swallow excavation mouths.

A spirit like cooking steam,
Rises above the stone lid ...
And take dissolution gift,
And may again come a little boy.

A girl can come
And it will be, goat worn,
And cry like a cat spring,
When she zapletut plaits.

I like this surrealism,
But still, let burn pattern.
Hopefully, the light will go without reproaches,
Do not lose the divine spin.