To Theophanes biography

The forest was noisy, and the river opened, pine trees cried with resin. And a tarry drop fell, a hot tear, in the heart of the valley, where, melting, sprayed like a thunderstorm. And the flower of fragrant spring was sad, weakened in delirium, and he fired radiant at the roots of pine, like a slave. February the monster walks around the world of the monster, goes, wanders, staggering, on it shit and chubby, and a monster, a monster, and smiles!

He goes, does not want to bow: “Left” - shouts to the rich. In the hand of the potion of the Blows; It goes, wanders - stretches, and at least something shaggy! Oh, monster, oh, drunkard, do you not coben, do you not scream both equestrian and foot: “Well, you, devils, to the goblin - I don't give a damn about everyone! Everything knocks, knocks the alarm clock, fighting off the fraction of minutes; It’s like drops fall into the abyss of eternity - and melt, - and again, they live again!

The night is frozen. The sky is starry, the eternity of the wise itself flickers from it. The garden in the snow, the gazebo, too, and the dark trees of the fringe of the fringe burns in the diamond trembling ... The last meeting for a long time of their early love broke up. For a long time they loved and dispersed for a long time. He suffered lonely, meeting the burden of troubles, she shared the enthusiasm of the best years with another.

And they met again in the fall. The sunset was burning, like a torch, on the days lived. On the grove, in the needles of the pines, the shines of the arrows slipped. He thought: how to fade! She: How old! He “you” was embarrassed, she did not dare - “you”, and both broke off the last flowers. They wanted to remember and say a lot, they still wanted to laugh again. The heart trembled in it, and it ached with him ...

And silently, without remembering anything ... the beam through the shut-on boards, into the gap of the barn, into the stuffy darkness, brightly blocked sparkles slipped like a lighthouse. And lies with a yellow snake on the wall and on the floor, along the boards and under the bench, breaking into the darkness. Sounds of a fleeting song, a life spinning in the darkness, and from the suffered torment, a thought born in the mind is also only spots, only a brief reflection into the gap from the nature of the immense, where one law and goal ...

to the music of the autumn rain is dark, dark! On the street is deserted ... I go to the darkness of the autumn rain in the darkness ... mysteriously and long the way creeps, leading to the heat of lights. In my mind, paintings are born one another more beautiful and brighter. Darkness in the sky, and the sun is burning the valleys, and the sun then rose in my soul! Everything is deserted, but there are streams, where I am walking an invisible path.

They are lonely in their souls, and the hearts of the strings in them are heard a surf. It’s not by our own imagination that we create life by going to immortality, and the world call the world with magical dreams to the music of autumn rain! .. October is pale, with gleamed features, and in the eyes a fire of crazy dreams, here it is! .. Around it is chaos and priests with lifted belus.

They beat in a feverish chest, and they scream about something incomprehensible, but not their censer - it is time to breathe a fragrant fresh air! Away, slaves! And away, the princes of ugliness, your insensitive fire is stuffy ... Away, Figigars! Let the mask of the bottom of the Donesty Blind the daring palm from you! No, not the thunder of God will punish you, the laughter of the mob will viciously kill you ...

Your muse is like a sick freak, that he comforts himself! The mourning is impudent, sometimes sincere ... Your muse is a mummy before her ... and the prophet of the future - will drive you away with a broom, with you - your fairy, your muse with a hazel key! Another tear, one tear, more - the last one, perhaps. And there - the score is ended with life, I will forget everything that I was once; And I will direct my flight to where there is no return!

Let me die, devoid of strength, not all the death will destroy. Find out that I loved you, how no one can love you! With the last song of love, I laugh sadly ... And you bless my dream as I bless you! The world has become cramped. His shackles are inexorable and harsh - where to bloom with eternal roses? Look for new ways! Dreams are exhausted to the bottom, the source of inspiration has dried up, but close, close revival, is a different life of a different sleep!

Dreams are exhausted to the bottom! But there is love, but there are hearts ... The temple of art is great and eternal. The priests of an unknown feeling for him descend endlessly. And there is love, and there are hearts!

We are not in the desert, not only, there are many roads of unknown, like stars in the sky, thoughts of God, like dreams in a mysterious shadow. We are not in the desert, not alone! .. He sings praise with the desire and, breaking on a rock, brings silt, sand and gravel. Is the impulse rustling, running, impatiently, sings the praise of the earthly courage ... But the imperious experience will break its free -loving move, like a hard shore - a foam of moisture ...

Stans are experienced, which is possible, everything is changed for a long time, and everything is so pale, so negligible! What to wish? Not everything is equal to it! Reason does not give in to feeling, and the feeling of mind begs spite, and the memory of passion will not atone for what time has taken away. Do not dare to love, do not dare to offend, do not dare to desire in the color of years, do not know, do not feel, not see - there is no one higher?

The lakes of transparent glass shine with ruddy blue. How far in the alleys of the Park of the echoing evenings are trembling. The birds are not heard, the rose does not breathe, bursting, the whistle of the Virgins, the blows of the tower clock, rush into the darkness of the tree. Yes, it sounds in the grass of the dewy of the later heavy creak, while the sheet of fiery goes off, without noise falling with LIP.Everything is full of death of the upcoming one, and in the silence of the viscous jets of the cold, the crash of the trembling was captured by the kiss ...

October is lush than in the clear hour of heyday, the alley of purple is dressed. And in the shaky gold of the branches, the holiday of the summer of the magical charm is still shining. And I don’t dare to call the night in the alley through this river foliage, but I won’t call it a glory! Our age is sick, - in his non -wounds, we will recognize the screams of faith; And, standing to the new one on the heavier, earned, like torture, day after day.

The broken wings are proud, and the impending tongue was daring ... and it is sad for me that in the days of our strengthening, powerlessness is great. The eyes are clear, the head will be sad, and the words are not more in your mouth. Branches of maples and birches rustling and rushing around under the window ... Without smiles, we met and part without tears.

Only something is not allowed in our fateful thoughts, only the heart is not sorry for the pain of the past. Does the mind seek excuses, the heart lives with memory and does not give the past to the vague future of past? Or two souls of those suffering, illuminating the distance with love, can be done with radiant hope? Passing along the valley, along the grove, with a clear sun, it looks its eyes and with a beam warmed relics dresses in a green cleaning.

Exactly after a serious illness, nature resurrects from sleep, and gives everyone a cheerful gold, like morning, spring. Ah, when it would be a fascinated path to the heavenly bosom - on the wave of a bell ringing in the blue heaven! .. Why, accustomed to slander, we love each other? Already boiling with one love, should two hearts be at enmity? September do you remember?! Do you remember: the soft shadows lay inaudibly around, and the lilacs trembled quietly under our open window ...

We were more and more cherished speeches with you and soon brilliant candles with a hasty hand lit; You sat down to the piano casually, and everything that you were full of, which languished for a long time, put it in the sounds of love; I listened to sinless sounds and looked sadly at the lights ... It was before the days of separation, but it was on happy days! .. August mowed herbs was like many in the spring of flowers, motley proudly ...

Some in a blush fragrantly fragrantly fragrant; Other magnificent flowers, proud of the whisk of beautiful, breathed a sweet dream, languishing with a wave of voluptuous ... Some loved brilliance and heat, others praised the coolness; Other life carried with them, other death and cold of poison ... And everyone streamed the aroma, and each one from the soil is moist on their delicate smell, their own outfit.

And for a long time their lingering sighed;. We all - the flowers of our native fields, in the spring of youth of the capricious loved the sultry call of passions and the noise inspired by the Fatherland ... The dream shines the scraped stream, whether the evening ranger sparkles, whether the forest is rustling in the nights of the nightingale - everywhere my dream will find a shelter like an imperious queen.

She lives with nature at the same time; She swimming in a stream in a stream, and the bed is from her - from the mosses of the flowering bottom ... She loves everything, she is given to understand everything in order to fly instantly with delight. In order to shine in my shower for a moment and illuminate the superstitious smile of the cold darkness of my sad days to heal the minute poison of passions and brighten up the life of a hypocritical.

There are fewer faith in the deity and more - faith in man! Bertenson is a doctor, a common acquaintance of Fofanov and Repin. And now this dusk is white, and these stars are timid, and incense apple trees color, and rustling, squeamish in the garden - like a pale ghost of the past years, dark and sadly shining a look. I want to appeal to the past in order to enjoy it again, the young people try to try, the love of the forgotten love to pray!

.. From the bright thoughts, doubt disappeared, like a slight smoke from the dull ash; I was far from gloomy sadness, from evil grievances and bumpy blasphemy. I loved the world, and I was loved by the world; Taking in the soul of an unquenchable light, in the abyss of the abyss I rushed along the broadcasts, with a crowd of stars, beyond the host of the planets.

And I saw the captivating secrets of the immortal, divine sleep ... I comprehended that evil and death are accidental, and life with good is both eternal and strong. I rejoiced with a embarrassed soul, and the heat of prayers burned my mouth ... Was that a song born with a dream, or a song of a born dream? .. I love this forest; A distant yellow system leaves the trunks of trees, amber resins from them, and with a dead peace, fearing human steps, languishes everything around!

But in this enchanting face I read, as in the book, my own sadness. And it imagines that everything is under the azure of ruddy: inclined willow over a sleepy pond and a dark blue forest behind a distant foggy-all this is just a ghost, deceptive-fraud, that which was in my heart. All this is an excerpt of a singing poem, boiling deep in my soul, where there is a lot of faith and passion of boiling, where there is a lot of thirst for freedom, so much sadness and a lot of fire!

And others will be born in a jubilant day ... So in my soul a host of document concerns will blossom - it will float on the everyday wave, and will be born again and float again ... I look at the stove in the stove: the golden cities, the bridge through the fire river - disappear without a trace. And in the place of bright scarlet, gilded tower - a forest from fiery corals shines with sparks of trunks.

A wonderful forest is short -lived, it will soon break up to dust, and the steppe will open for gaze in crumbly lights.