< Oleg Nikof
It was like leaving the astral plane ...
The one where the body with the soul apart:
He always came when I wanted to,
And sometimes without being asked.
He did not know the prohibitions did not know taboo.
He was with me infinitely simple.
I hummed softly names of letters,
I'm just doing their genealogy.
He whispered in my ear - barely,
To eavesdrop nobody could
Combinations of sounds, creating words,
And one - a combination of lines.
I poured myself a glass to the brim,
Lit - drank greedily,
And I record everything he suggested,
Not forgotten in the morning, so ...
To the morning, flipping through a notebook, -
Amazed that the handwriting is new! -
Recognize letters are not letters, and notes,
Or even the music - strokes.
I was in a hurry to decipher those touches,
Do not put off for later.
And I read his poems in surprise,
Alcoholic trampling syndrome.
It was like leaving the astral plane,
Where the soul ... I negligee
I pour yourself a glass to the brim ...
Yes notebook lost already.