Could be like this: a kind of cold exhaustion;
The clock is beating ears now and still;
The distance lost in thunder-blown emotions
With voice of hardly recognized captive…
I hear complaints and groans that now persisting,
With secret circle narrow us around,
But in this abyss whispers find existence…
There\'s sound that has conquered over us.
All is so quiet unaidably around,
That you could hear the grass that grows in wood
Like daredevil walking round with baggie,
But now the words are heard above as true…
And lightest rhymes are ringing with their beauty
Then I begin to understand their sense,
And just dictated lines are no more tuneless
As find their place in a snow-white notepad ...