I knew a guy his name was Robby,
He was a mystery for crowds, 
He had a strange and senseless hobby,
We said: «He lives in purple clouds!»

From early spring till solar triumph
He spent his days in golden light,
On sleepy hills nearby The Dyleannf
He was alone he launched a kite.

His turquoise kite with fretted ribbons,
There also was a name on it;
He wrote by white; the name was Laurence
It seemed she turned his chronic need.

It seemed he waits for her emergence
And just believes in spectral dreams,
He launched the kite and called his Laurence,
He was away from mocking screams.

He was alone to keep his secrets,
He didn’t join us, he preferred
To be alone with shapeless liquids,
His own inside was rather blurred.

So all endeavors died like sparkles, 
When stole up closer to his soul;
It seemed the world his nature crumbles,
But we had nothing to console.

To freeze his thoughts all steps were useless;
The guy came back to drowsy hills,
He could not stay in drawn aloofness,
In our limits testing thrills.

And ran away to the position,
Where sweet ambitions won his mind,
Just like a fool who had a mission,
Who was addicted to the wind.

He launched his kite higher and higher,
The turquoise hope above the ground,
He sent his calls within that flier,
First set it free than led around.

Robby just wished to find his Laurence, 
That was his dream, his sharp disease,
He did not take her side’s ignorance,
He was too queer to yield to squeeze. 

He did not follow other people,
Was concentrated on his way,
Loosing that fear little by little,
He demonstrated signs of fay.

He asked the sun to bring him answers,
Besought the sky to beam so bright,
Swallowed the space by mature clusters,
Launching again his turquoise kite.

And heaven heard then judged the actions;
I won’t forget that rainy day,
When Robby left his revelations
And disappeared made blue turn gray.

He left us nothing for the climax,
He simply vanished like a ghost...
Who knows exactly voiceless dialogues
Between himself and heaven’s host.

I don’t, but one thing sends new torrents
To tell the story once again;
Perhaps, Rob met his precious Laurence,
Maybe, just perished by bane’s plane.

And many years, when spring takes over,
Suffusing lands with golden light,
Nearby The Dyleannf time goes slower,
When people see the turquoise kite!

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© 02.11.2010 Анатолий Щербак
Свидетельство о публикации: izba-2010-235338

Рубрика произведения: Поэзия -> Стихи на иностранных языках

Lovely       24.11.2010   19:45:50
Отзыв:   положительный
Здорово. Вы молодец. Люблю английский. Стих интересный и красивый!
С улыбкой, Настюша:)
Анатолий Щербак       24.11.2010   19:52:11

=)) И вновь A.VENETUS. выражает благодарность Настюше за внимание и интерес к его творчеству =)) С радостью Я!
Lovely       24.11.2010   23:10:40

:) прям как на радиоволнах)
буду рада, если этот радостный A.VENETUS. заинтересуется и моим творчеством *смущенно* :)