there are towns like wine
Auspicious autumn city
Around all the junk
Oh, how I like it
dull irrevocable years
and my days are past
and holy book is my sadness
barefoot girl in the rain hurries to the tram
And the station is still not close, a mile away
And she hides the sweet sadness in her eyes
taking away for the road pulls the city into the abyss
– hey, poor old man, you tell your pigeons your sadness!
(I’m not happier than that old man …)
and the leaves burn out with longing
but what can I do
if my dreams freeze outside the windows? ..
and at home
till they are hundreds of centuries late?
how old in the blink of an eye, with the breeze?
I’m insane copy of my wandering shadow
under the umbrella are lovers
and lips in flowers
and feelings in flowers
and blooming eyes
will kill him with its fire
in November street, loneliness wanders
in November street loneliness wanders
wings grow on my back
and I will fly away
dipping feather in spring
I smell the most delicate flower from my soul,
and the ray of the most wonderful morning plays in my eyes
applying a green tint to dragonfly wings –
I covered my heart.
for a moment of blooming lilacs –
I hid my dreams.
I’m flying high
I soar high
the clouds are like a white blanket
and mountains are like cradles.
… then thirst for the moment of meeting with God, so early
the wings grew imperceptibly in me.
and waltz birch
passing through myself.
I flashed again in silhouette.
and I’m on my way
I’m spending the night at the stars
And I’m hiding under the moon
– and when did I manage to live? ..
There are sparkling mountains sunbathing at dusk
and at sea the swell colors the shore with a pearl.
in the dark- light
in the dark- rays-
my poems are true friends.
Untold by the sages
not found in thick volumes
I seek my truth….
Why do we dream of Space ?
rush to leave.
dropping stars from our eyes,
while cold of the night
blowing to our moon lightened faces.
Do we want to leave the earth ?
Are we alienated from the earth?
we want to leave
there is no mercy
in it, which covers
with fooling ashes
that’s why I want to leave,
turning this crazy world upside down
here you find:
smell of downtrodden flower’s destiny.
smell of grief of those who are dead .
cursing old woman is
like a grey-headed dream of yours.
reading the letters of the era in a sigh
you write poems in ink soaking up your sleeve
shamelessly praising one who called himself a poet
turning away from one who called himself a devotee
ragged words heal your soul’s wounds,
and still you search for delusion .
all the birds flew off your chest,
so you spend your spring near graves.
your brain covered with dust,
yours eyes and lips,
just hardly bearing it
so just want to leave
to the Space
“Girl’s name is – Aktolkyn”
The bird sings heavily in November
Sadness lies so hard in the eyes.
Maybe you miss me too
Making a pillow from my letters
The roads are long
the trains are sluggish.
So come please
walking on the seas
and passing mountains
If you do not want to
my moon will be broken
and my sun will be broken
Will God meet us?
Because all roads are without you
Our November has now become July
Why is that
the streets are empty without cars
Autumn has lost its beauty
the land is dry here
here – the air is polluted.
Girl puts her feet in a puddle
because she has nothing more to do.
Are your eyes tired?
look after the moon
What autumn will meet me with you?
What autumn took you from me?
As if autumn is testing us.
I am infinitely absorbed in loneliness
You went west …
and here we are waiting with Almaty
when will you come?
Send them to the flowers,
Send them to the birds,
Let my winter settle here.
Here with dust covered – Jules Verne,
And rust soaked – Magauin
in my bag.
doors are broken,
windows are broken too.
the nest of the swallow I notice,
just like me
just like my wish,
wish of something far away
graft the mountains to my chest,
graft the oceans to my eyes,
all in blue.
like the pines rising through my head
like the lilacs flourishing in my lips
that’s how I became the nature
that’s how I become spring
all by myself
‘Cause It’s enough for me,
the road is too long,
the journey is too far,
my torch is almost dead;
my notes are melted in dark,
and the ink drops from my lashes.
Only the wise crow and
the prudent spider know
what has happened
I’m a wandering pilgrim
and a rambling gypsy
who has seen the waverings
of the centuries.
I’m about to build a castle
settling here this winter
send them to the flowers
send them to the birds