Grains of heaven

"It’s time, my friend, it’s time!"

It’s time, my friend, it’s time! peace of heart asks – Flying days after days, and every hour carries a piece of life, and the two of you and I Assume to live, and just look – just die. There is no happiness in the world, but there is peace and will. It has long been an enviable dream I share – Long, tired slave, I planned to escape Into the abode of distant works and pure neg.

What is friendship? Light hangover, Resentment free talk, Exchange of vanity, idleness Ile patronage shame.

Dear friend! You are a young soul So pure! Sleep bye! My soul is with you, Beauty! You wake up, it will be night and the cold is cold. You are then with the soul of a reliable friend. Not alone. Let the winter around and the wind howl, – I’m with you! Friend of you from winter storms will cover with all my soul!

"From the paradise of children’s life"

Grains of heaven

From the paradise of childish life you say hello to you by a farewell, Unchanged friends In a shabby, red binding. A little easy lesson learned, I ran to you at once. – “It’s too late!” – “Mom, ten lines!” … But fortunately, mother forgot. Lights tremble on chandeliers … How good is a book at home! Under Grieg, Schumann and Cui I recognized the fate of Tom. It’s getting dark … The air is fresh … Tom in happiness with Becky is full of faith. Here with a torch Native American Joe Wandering in the dusk of the cave … Cemetery … Prophetic cry of an owl … (I’m scared!) That flies through the hummocks Accepting a primordial widow, Like Diogenes living in a barrel. The throne room is lighter than the sun, A crown above a slender boy … Suddenly a beggar! Oh god He said: “Excuse me, I am the heir to the throne!” He went into the darkness who appeared in her. Britain’s fate is sad … —Oh, why in the middle of red books? Again, after the lamp, would you not fall asleep? O golden times, Where the eyes are bold and the heart is purer! O golden names: Heck Finn, Tom Sawyer, Prince and Beggar!

On this day, blessed day, one of you has accepted And virtues and the name of that maiden, who has saved the Religions of the saint; Another being Nature bestowed.

She both made you to it, So that your feelings and deeds Mutually happiness was And a gentle example would be given.

Separation depresses you, O faithful friends! the hour will come soon – A pleasant, sweet, blissful hour of meeting: And in the outpouring of hearts you will see its end And forget the past sufferings.

"Dear friend Misha. "

Dear mate Misha, You are like a whirlwind, but how can I hush up, Save under a quiet roof About me love and memory.

"People are sleeping; my friend, let’s go. "

People are sleeping; my friend, let’s go to the shady garden. People are sleeping; only the stars look to us. Yes, and they do not see us among the branches And they do not hear – only the nightingale hears. Yes, and he does not hear, – his song is loud; Can only hear the heart and hand: Hears the heart, how many pleasures of the earth, How much happiness we brought here; Yes, the hand, hearing, the heart says, That a stranger is burning and trembling in it, That it is hot from this shiver, That a shoulder involuntarily leans towards the shoulder.

I want to understand life seriously: the slope of the ears and birch trees, I want to feel their weight, and that they are drawn into the blue of the heavens, so that the line is true, like a rebirth of grain.

I want to understand life seriously: floods of rivers, thunder of thunderstorms, the beating of living hearts are an unexplained world of wonders, where, like a ship’s hull, the earth is moving without a trace.

I look at the flights of birds, the changes of our neighbors, when their time is burning with a chisel, when adversity is tightly ringed .. But there are no such adversities in the world to delay the sun’s rise.

Not only winter thoughts, the ice will cool me and wipe, and no, it is not only the heat that commands me that’s life — I see the daily course of human effort and concern.

Silent machine tools circle, control calls ring, and, having become a queue in line, the miners move to the bottom, under the low sky of black mines they do not slow down.

Understand their thought, enter their life, become their immortality tracker! So as not to pass like a cloud over the face of the rushing land, – so that their business would be hammered with a medal into the tree of the trunk.

Human growth is immeasurable, and our work is a bridge between centuries. Join the spans! Where are the words so as not to feel dizzy? Bend over to the ornament of carpets, bow down to the milking of the cows, so that every line of yours would give at least a drop of milk!

As the fabric comes out of the machine, as the edge lies on the diamond, put it, put a sprout of time immortal in consonance of lines! Then nothing, and even death, will not prevent us from daring!

"Love and friendship"

Love and friendship are distinguished, But how do they want to distinguish? They are equally willing to buy, Only we are told to hide one. Empty thought! Cheating in vain! Sometimes the friendship is tender, passionate, It constrains the heart, moves the blood, And although it hides its dangerous fire, But with a beautiful girl Always looks like love.

"I have debts to my friends"

I have debts to my friends, – And they have but – to me, But with their strange deeds And they are strange, and I am wonderful.

Write me letters, guys, Give me a couple of minutes, – Otherwise my life will be ruined, And less songs will be sung about you.

You do not burn bridges behind you, you do not destroy card houses, – God is with them at all, who is eager to fight Just because of women and debts!

Three women, dirty, drunk, Embracing, go and stagger. Bell towers are foggy, Crosses at churches bend down.

Hearing incoherent speeches, On hoarse songs like, Laughing cabers idle, Roughly passers-by avoided.

They go, dirty, drunk, Sing their songs, swear. And woefully churches mist Before them the crosses bow down.

"Until the best days!" – before parting, shaking my hand, you said; And for a long time these days I waited, But I was deceived by the expectation.

My dear! they will not come, In the future happiness so little. I remember joyful days, But all that I remember is gone.

Past useless to us. Such is the lighthouse, sometimes at night Above the turbulent abyss of the sea Alluring to faithful shores,

When on a boat, lonely, A fluttering swimmer rushes And he sees – the shore is not far And he sees his end closer.

Not! to seduce a dream in vain A sick heart is wondering; Barely a wonderful dream comes, It wakes up!

"And in a secret friendship. "

And in a secret friendship with a high, As a young dark-eyed eagle, I, as if in the flower bed of the autumn, Walked lightly. There were the last roses, And the transparent month swayed On gray, thick clouds.

Friends say: "All means are good to save from anger and misfortune at least part of the Tragedy, at least part of the soul. " And who said that I am divided into parts?

And how can I hide – half – the passion, so that it will not cease to be a passion? How can I give a part to the call of the people, when life too little? No, if the pain, then the whole soul hurts, and joy – all flames before everyone. And she is not afraid of being told to be open – her freedom, the one that everyone is stronger.

I want so, believe so, love so. Do not dare to show me participation. I will not even give up my death for your forced happiness.

With all my heart I want happiness for your friends! That would be to get married as soon as possible, to give them out! How much you spend with them gold hours, So I would have taken the door of the house and bolted! How many times from wall to wall I walked with longing, I waited for my conscience to wake up, to go home, I looked at my watch, but the arrows slowed down. And the guests do not sit long – it seems that century. I have never seen such restless ones: They talk for a day – they won’t get tired, I’m tired of them. If the two of us decided to spend the evening, At least one of your girlfriends, but should go! So the poet, having conceived his poems, works a little light, But a talker-slacker will come – and the poet has disappeared .. And now I expect that someone will knock suddenly. That would take and marry all your friends!

Know only with people worthy of friendship, Do not know with scoundrels, do not be yourself. If the mean medicine pours you – pour it! If a wise man gives you poison – accept!

And with a friend and with the enemy you must be good! Who is good by nature, in that malice you will not find. If you offend a friend, you will make an enemy; you embrace the Enemy – you will find a friend.

Grains of heaven

"Friendship is friendship, and service is service"

"Friendship is friendship, and service is service" – The saying is golden, Yes, it so happens that without need From the mouth it flies.

Slightly curse you on all the crusts, Thunder – for the cause of it, without cause, or if it does, Under a convenient proverb, As under the roof, hide rubbish.

As under an umbrella in bad weather, Will wait under it for at least six months, With a former friend playing hide and seek, Until you again will "in order".

If you reproach them, they will answer immediately: "Friendship is friendship, and service is service". Sram will cover the jokes with a leaf And they will go, shaking themselves like ducks.

Again – you for their dear, Again – do you remember the way to the house, Long or shortly? – Until the other Thunder he heard.

It’s not only friendship that is superficial. These little Judas; That they do not know how to be friends – well, after all, they serve something bad too!

The unwriting poet is the autumn nightingale. How to find you among the thick branches? And how to interpret your silence? Is it joy or despair?

I remember how you wept over the line, Not over your own, but over someone else’s posthumous. I will follow you to our youth. You calm my soul with anxiety.

For us, another time is coming. I knew you were funny and cocky. You said: “Here you go, we will grow up, Reach the highest notes.”

A note that you assigned, Others do not take – neither cranes, nor falcons, Do not submit to laziness and fate, And conquer the note that high.

Your success is more to me than all the praises. As long as your voice sounds again. Your gift to you in such a height called, Where there is nothing above a word.

Cruel friend, for what torment? Why bait cute words? Why in your eyes love, And in the heart of anger and impatience? But only you be at peace, And I, doomed on a mountain, I leave all the dreams of My soul divorced.

And this land of fascination, Where so much was the fate of persecution, Where I loved, not being loved, Where I suffered without compassion, Where so cruelly experienced The infidelity of vows and promises – And where no one understood My soul for deaf sobs!

"My friend, I understand a lot in you"

My friend, I will understand a lot in you, What others will not understand, Why you are so judged strictly by a restless world court. In front of me, because of the distance of the past years, your traits In the hours of judgment, in the hours of sorrow Stand up in the radiance of love, And so casually, so by chance Curls from the brow fall On her chest, trembling secretly Anticipation of good and evil. And in the timid virgin the moisture of the languid Dream of the wife glitters in the eyes, And the immodest question about love Shamelessly freezes on her lips.

I drink to the health of not many, Not many, but true friends, Friends of relentlessly strict In the temptations of changeable days.

I drink to the health of distant, Distant, but dear friends, Friends, like me, lonely Amid their people alien to the hearts.

Tears flow into my goblet of wine, But their flow is sweet and pure; So, with scarlet – black roses Intertwined in my table wreath.

My cup for the health of not many, Not many, but true friends, Friends of relentlessly strict In the temptations of changeable days;

For health and near distant, Distant, but the heart of relatives, And in memory of friends of the lonely, Who died in the graves of the dumb.

I rarely sang, but fun, friends! My soul spilled freely. O King’s Garden, shall I forget you? Your beauty magical enlivened Prank my imagination, And the string echoed the string, In a consonant ring merging at hand, – And you, my friends, loved my voice.

You songs as a gift from a rural poet! Love them for at least mine. God knows where you will rush into the noise of the light. All of you, friends, all my joys! And, maybe, the dreams of my Lilet There will be a torment of love for me there; And the gift of the singer, only to you in the desert dear, Like a cornflower, will not flourish dull.

"Don’t trust me, friend. "

Do not believe me, friend, when, in an abundance of grief, I say that I have stopped loving you, At low tide, do not believe in treachery of the sea, It returns to earth, loving.

Already, I yearn for, full of the old passion, I will again give my freedom to you, And waves with a reverse noise run to the beloved beaches from afar!

"What’s going on with me"

This is what happens to me: My old friend does not go to me, But they walk in idle vanity Diverse are not those.

And he doesn’t go anywhere with those, And he also understands this, And our discord is inexplicable, We both suffer with him.

This is what happens to me: Most recently, it comes to me, He puts his hands on my shoulders, And steals me from another.

And for that, tell me, for God’s sake, Who should I put on my shoulders? The one from whom I am stolen, In retaliation, will also steal.

He will not immediately reply in the same way, And he will live with himself in the struggle And will unknowingly outline Someone distant to himself.

Oh, how many nervous and unnecessary connections, Friendship unnecessary, already in me already exaggerated, Oh, someone, come, break Conjugation of other people And the disunity of close souls.

This is what happens to me: My old friend does not go to me, But they walk in idle vanity Diverse are not those.

This is what is happening to me, this is what is happening to me.

"My wonderful friend"

Forgive me, my wonderful friend. No offense, only fatigue. Last time I flew around for twenty years, There was no strength left on the prelude.

You see, the wounds are bleeding, have not healed yet, Like flowers bloom even. To whom in heaven, my bill is not paid, If you shoot me there too.

As trite and evil God repeats itself, And they think they are capable of a miracle. I do not need my monologue in your soul, And I will not write to anywhere.

I study you, in the depths of bright lines – I see someone’s quotes and thoughts. You see, my friend, the relationship is warm – This is the most important thing in life.

Inside the soul. This world without embellishment I, as a sharp pain feel. We Crane Mile. Those who are crying for us Watch out and do not notice.

I make a circle again above a burning candle, And I am about to learn how to burn. Forgive me, my wonderful friend, How I would like to be wrong.

Dear friend, I know, I deeply know, That my verse is pale, powerless, and sick; Often I suffer from his impotence, Often secretly crying in the silence of the night. There is no torment in the world that is more flour than the word: Sometimes a mad cry breaks from a mouth, a cry breaks in vain, Love is sometimes ready to burn soul: A beggar is our tongue cold and pathetic.

A rainbow of flowers, spilled in nature, The sounds of a harmonious song, which subsided on strings, The pain for an ideal and tears about freedom, – How to convey them in everyday words? As a boundless world, stretched before us, And a peace of peace, full of anxieties, It is vital to throw timid strokes And fit in the dimensions of these narrow lines.

But to be silent when sobs sound around And when you so eagerly rush to appease them, – Under the threat of struggle and in the face of suffering. Brother, I do not want, I can not be silent. Suppose I, as a fighter, do not break chains, Like a prophet – in the mist I do not shed light: I went into the crowd and suffered with it, And I give what I can – response and hello.

Let the seeker of proud glory Donate peace to her! Let it fly into battle bloody Behind the crowd of heroes! But with arrogant crowns A singer of the woods is not deceived: I am happy and without crowns With lyre, with true friends.

Let the riches of passion torment their devout slaves! Let them fall down with gold, Let them come from foreign countries With loaded ships The ardent waves crush: I am rich without gold With lyre, with true friends.

Let the fun swarm rustling For a crowd attracts! Let on their altar brilliant Each victim will suffer! I do not strive for their crowds – I am without their noisy passions, Having fun with my lyre, with true friends.

Tried by cruel fights, Did I dare to do without a friend? But now true friends, It seems, could not get.

True, there are, of course, colleagues, Relatives, neighbors too. Companions to a glass to attach, These are! Is honor great?

The heart of a friend radiates joy, With him in need and happiness more fun. A friend everywhere like a shadow walks nearby. I have no such friends.

Maybe this is my nonsense in the hour of illness? Maybe just the nerves split? If there is a friend’s heart in the world, I ask: – Do not hide! Answer me!

In the kitchen under the window In the sun Polkan with Barbosa, lying down, basking. Although at the gates in front of the courtyard It was more appropriate to guard the house, But how they sank – And polite dogs besides They do not bark at anyone in the afternoon – So they set out to talk together About all sorts of things: about their dog service, About weight, about good and finally about friendship. "What can, says Polkan, be more pleasant. As with a friend, heart to heart to live; In all to provide mutual service; Not to sleep without a friend and not to eat, To stand as a mountain for a friend’s wool And, finally, to look at each other’s eyes, To just gratify a happy hour, Could you please a friend what to amuse and amuse, And put all your bliss in a friend’s happiness! Now, if, for example, we have with you Such a friendship has started: I say boldly, We would not have seen how time would fly".- "And what about? this is a deal! – The watchdog responds to him. – Long time, half a kilo, I hurt myself, That, having been in the same yard with you dogs, We will not live a day without a fight; And from what? Thanks to the gentlemen: Neither hungry nor close to us! Moreover, the right, ashamed: the Dog of Friendship is considered an example from ancient times. And the friendship between the dogs, as if between people, Almost not visible". – "Let us show an example in it in our times! ”Polkan shouted,“ Give me a paw! ”"- "Here she is!" And new friends well hug, Well kiss; Do not know with joy, to whom and equate: "Orest my!"- "My Pilad!" Away swara, envy, anger! Then a cook out of the kitchen threw a bone. Here are new friends rushing to the start-ups: Where did the advice and the way go? With Pilad, my Oresce is nibbling, – Only shreds fly upward: Forcibly, at last, they have been poured with water.

Light is full of such friendship. About current friends say, not sin. That in friendship they are all just not the same: Listen, it seems, they have one soul, – And just throw them a bone, so your dogs!

Like this post? Please share to your friends:
Leave a Reply