Flanders road

< Mamai



… Underground parking. Five o'clock in the morning.
Monsters asphalt and concrete.
Minutes sluggish, angry and monotonous,
and the night slips into the pantheon of losses,
where you can not hear prayers and groans ...
As the morning? Is morning, brother?
... In the framework of all. Shot
Brussels I do not believe any more tears, no visas.
Pointless sticking
imager on Vintar, and muddy, like jelly,
armored car window times the square of the lend-lease ...
In the countryside, in the wilderness, podalee from here!
There, where the Scheldt met Fox,
where age-old stones licking slime,
where the gray bulk
Gravensteen with the same dark sky embraced,
and the sky broke through the dam,
and drops breaking picturesque
on the pavement of Ghent. Pray,
O traveler, pray to their gods,
philosophers, hearth or Lares
for this passion to distant shores.
Such meetings are not in vain.
These Whether on other areas
only a stone charms spare time,
hewn skillful hands,
and stone -
memory. That is, the memory - stone
. ... In the fields of Ypres, from earthly shackles
free sleeping British infantry,
and not wait for the fate of Don Quixote
ranks of the indifferent wind turbines ...