Just take for it,
So if it happens,
What can the heart do if it
Falls in love?
Let us sit under the moon
Shining over
Just behind the church
Where there is none,
But you and me.
None, but you and I,
None, but I and you,
Talking with,
Chatting and gossiping
And the white roses smiling,
The bats flying.
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A psychology reader,
Olga mythicizesWith her Polish stockThe fiction of the mindRooting from dark consciousness.The journeys man takes,The travels taking to the pastAnd the past to the presentRevelries into time.
I saw it silently
The shots they fired,The street plays they staged itBut the spirit they started itEnded it otherwiseGetting mired into political controversy and mileage.
Is he a poet
Or a media baronOr a newsmanOr a literary journalistOr an entertainerOr an editorOr other than these?Say you.
For to be an English poet,
I mean Vilayat,With Vilayati gait,You need to keep something.First, you need to dress in pants and a shirtWith the golden-framed stylistic glassesOr maybe they the dark sunglassesOver the faceAnd your face hidden from,I mean you unrecognizable,The audience calling you to take off the specsAnd you smiling sweetly.If you have to be a poet, it is…
Krishna-Krishna, Rama-Rama,
Krishna-Krishna, Rama-Rama,Rama-Rama, Krishna-Krishna,O sing you, sing you, friends,Clapping, clapping and dancing,Rama-Rama, Krishna-Krishna,O sing, sing you, friends,Hare Rama, hare Krishna,Krishna-Krishna, Rama-Rama,Friends, you have seen,You have understood,No life, there is no lifeWithout hare Rama, hare Krishna,Hare Rama, hare Krishna,Sing, sing you, Rama-Rama,Krishna-Krishna just for some time,Some time, thanks, thank you, friends!
I will not remain,
Nor will my poetryAs things last it not hereAnd this want IThinking posterity,The younger generations,For what fault will they have to suffer,For my ego, hypocrisy, self-pride?