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У искусства нет языка

Да, это так. Вовсе не обязательно даже знать какой-либо язык, важно слушать. Понимание все равно придет.

В этой публикации я представлю стих, написанный совсем недавно и переведенный на английский язык. Пишите в комментарии, на каких языках вы хотели бы почитать стихи.

How difficult it is to enter the door
Wide open,
How hard is it to play poker,
Where are all cards of the same suit,
How hard it is sometimes
Thoughts moving in the brain,
And who is now easy ...
And why?

After all, our locks out of the fog are melting
Dispelled by the wind
Across our planet,
Drawn in one color
Pictures are not hung on the walls,
And the walls are dancing a waltz,
And maybe we dance until the fire
Not extinguished?

Where is the meaning of that easy life
Which is gone
Somewhere in a parallel world
And there decided to disappear?
Run through the clouds now
The problem of the highest standard
And even just to close the door to the basement
In the cold ...

And there, in the basement, a new light,
New world like
And each of our people
I would like to lose a minute
For the sake of this new beauty,
What will excite his frail mind,
Not in a day, not in an hour,
And so, right away.

And the windows in the castle are wide open,
Birds are flying through them
Inside is empty, sad, sullen,
And this verse ends ...
And someday I'll be back here,
In his hand a penknife,
A minute - and I already lean over the sheet,

У искусства нет языка

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Всегда ваш,
Джеки Эстакадо.