< Leah Altukhova
I release myself from this city,
if soaking wet clothes,
Again earrings clinging to the gate,
Semenya from the door to the bed.
Imprisoned in the cell panel,
On freedom of dreaming timidly.
From anguish to me prescribe pills.
You want soul? Take better body.
Echoes of silent conversations
Through the window came the the streets.
Like summer to pick a quarrel
And the rain is crying his shoulders hunched.
I put the kettle, let it be hot.
Will I and rain antipode.
Do you even remember what the real one?
Mood - spleen. Bad weather.