Today: January 21 2019
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Eyes opened and was surprised,
Was born.
And his mouth opened,
He spoke,
As it seemed.
But only screamed,
Trying to get air
And a new world to breathe.
And the little hands stretched,
Woke up.
Feel the sun
Through the window.
And grab that first ray,
What so mighty.
Witness birth in the world,
Where is the feast.
And the first step, stumbling into the hands.
These torments
Thinking before choosing a road,
To beat the rapids
Knowledge or stupidity,
And then in the rain and slush
To laugh or cry.
Fall in love, divorce
And work hard.
Go, without stopping to the place,
Where life is a bride.
Where the disease, that rest,
When already fate and under the breath.
When there is no torture,
But also not light,
And the night
So calms as a native daughter.
Step, slowing down gradually,
His, ending the path,
As the essence.
And not to the sun, hands,
And to parting.
And more often you stumble from torture,
But there are not those hands,
Who held you
And in joy, and in sorrow.
And do not shout already, but whisper.
And the look is not stronger.
The time of knowledge is over.
The house is filled with life,
Which are remembered with difficulty.
Which, like horses to gallop,
They dispersed, and did not have time to harness it.
And before the look
With reproach,
You see the earth, along which he walked,
So tried.
And he has,
Did not keep track.
From birth, I would understand,
What is sky-
This is the reflection
And feet in the dust,
Which thoughtlessly leave a trace,
But not glorify
And live
Then, no matter where,
Knowing this, the sky sees,
In which he first looked ...


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