measure1

A1

A scattering of letters falling from the sky -

like stars, like rainbows,

like lightning we are gifted.

They formed into a legend.

Having seen the sign,

understand the opportunity

connections

silent existence

and the universe,

of an enormous world being:

does it exist, no -

there is nothing else.

I'm hitting the braban

hear all tribes

the voice of a piebald dog

running away from here -

Where?

the thread breaks

spun by whom

sitting in silence

embroidered tents

and whispering into the night

coastal winds

your prayers.

A2

The ever-hasty, fleet-footed one looked out

from his nest.

And the gentle sunny sky,

wrapped up like a fur coat.

The fires lit up in the distance and the steep ones began to blink.

The clouds rose up like a mother-of-pearl ship.

Revealed and advised,

fattened and caressed,

blue-eyed crows of heaven.

Yes, it’s time for them to go to other lands.

"Fly, weary ones, fly!

Don't forget me above the clouds!

Remember and cry, -

may I live by your tears

forever and ever".

A3

driven up

trampled down

do you see? you move the stars -

they have an unknown misfortune

victory won

guilty

wine-black sea

without testing the net

howling without conquering

moved onto the water, imperiously

laid down fuzzy sheets

I thought they would take me out!

I thought they could

will endure, baseless...

They parted, crumpled, burned

endured it, but truly laughed

above you, vastly windswept

second-fresh.

"Who's who coming out of the cloud

started to laugh and became handsome

poised?

youth of youth

fruitfulness of fertility

Responsive self-dealer

disgusting craliter

inter-row speeding

it became a fox with force, it was remembered as a bald one.”

The extinct ashes scatter.

In corners, sides, cases.

Silence at last.

Gone.

A4

Come out into the yard, let's play hide and seek

There are rusty swings and a garage, benches,

and grass. And the earth. In general, everything is fine.

Be like a chirping canary:

sing songs and flutter until the menacing voice

will not order from the window: “Hurry home!”

So, the time has come to return,

but you haven’t played enough,

but they will kindly put you to bed.

Unearthly songs will be sung over you,

you will fall asleep wrapped in a blanket,

and until you wake up, they won’t remember you.

and when you don’t wake up, you will be forgotten.

B1

Balance means:

uniform weaving of existence,

in which you are like a needle,

penetrating the density of the fabric.

They pierce into her in even rows

hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of needles.

Blunt, they fall to the canvas,

and they are collected by the blacksmiths of new destinies.

Behind the needle is a thread that is the past.

Hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of threads

woven into those outlandish costumes,

which everyone tries on every day.

B2

do you believe in darkness

dazzling, brightly woven,

unable to fit within its boundaries?

do you believe in the ocean,

tenderly squeezing existence

in your iridescent embrace?

It doesn't matter.

Everything that keeps you -

neighbor's heartbeat.

That which you are powerless to face -

The sound of hearts in the distance

steel,

hardened in fire.

Burnt.

Ruthless.

Intoxicating.

B3

A Brief History of Humanity:

the concept changes faster than the image -

because behind the image there is a feeling that is important.

Does the feeling itself change?

Or the whole history of mankind

is there any glorification of him?

B4

In the center of the labyrinth stands one who has realized himself standing in the center of the labyrinth -

so the center of the maze can be anywhere.

Threads are woven in all directions, each of which leads outward.

Therefore, strictly speaking, it is difficult to call it a labyrinth.

This is no more a labyrinth than, for example, a shopping center.

The one standing in the center of the labyrinth cuts off the threads.

They all lead in the wrong direction.

They all inspire false confidence.

Threads that have lost tension lie in disarray at his feet.

Now the one standing in the center of the labyrinth can finally move.

Sometimes he picks up shapeless balls that catch his eye and tries to unwind them.

He unwinds a little, carefully cuts the thread and puts it in his pocket.

For memory.

And he moves on.