AVICENNA WAS SO WISE

Avicenna was so wise

He had given good advice:

Boy, you feel again in love.

Take hot shower and a bath.

Stay in water till you tough,

It will treat you well enough.

Take a dog and put on scarf,

Put on boots, go to the park.

Go somewhere for a walk.

Maybe three miles, maybe four.

Even twenty, best of all.

When you feel again in love

And you feel it’s real love.

Go to work and work like horse,

If you feel that you get worse.

Then back home and boiling bath.

It will treat you well enough.

Boiling milk and butterbrot.

Make the water very hot!

Switch on advanced Stereo,

Volume’s growing more and more.

Put a pillow on your head,

Bite your elbow, pinch your hand.

Take your notebook, mail your friend.

Or play tennis at the end.

Avicenna was so wise,

He had given good advice:

Girl, you feel again in love.

Take hot shower and a bath.

Eat some medicine, put on scarf,

It will treat you well-enough.

Put on wool socks, drink some tea,

Brush your hair, try to sleep.

Turn on music, hug your cat.

Take your notebook, surf in Net.

When you feel again in love,

And you feel it’s real love.

Go for shopping to a mall

Doesn’t matter, not at all.

Sixty hours working week,

Choose some countries for a trip.

Boiling milk, no butterbrot.

Take a bath much more than hot.

Round scarf about your head,

Try new perfumes, while you’re wet.

Avicenna was so wise,

There is more than one advice:

Second is for boy and girl

When hot bathing doesn’t go.

Kisses, touches and making love

In a bath or even out.

Fact – the real time has come.

Love each other, both you one!

LOVE COULD BE A FLIGHT

Do you think our Love is fight?

I say it was rigmarole.

Tell yourself “Adieu aux armes”

Don’t play such a role.

Maybe you were vexed, annoyed.

You had got a headache.

Stop your jumps, I’m not a toy.

Don’t make a mistake.

Love could be a fight

Under blankets, through all night.

Kindling our feelings,

It’s a kind of healing.

Love could be a battle –

Noble, mental, flattered.

Where we can contest

Prize of wit and zest.

Love could be an engine,

Shield from any danger.

Best way to uncork

Tempered power-stock.

Do you think our Love is fight?

Maybe I agree with you.

Better say that Love is Flight,

We are airplane crew!

EX-WEEK

Why do I meet my ex- ?

Ex-people, ex-life text.

To see that life just goes

And where? Just God knows.

To see that it was fake,

Just young age sweet mistake.

To see, that I have changed

And I’ve got better range.

Why do I meet my ex-?

Ex- Love, but not a Rex.

To feel that past is closed

For always, draw a cross.

To feel that we are friends,

But in a different lands.

To feel that we can live

For different belief.

Why do I meet my ex-?

Ex-people, ex- life text.

Occasion? Maybe not.

I should to stand a Dot.

No reasons to go on.

Old strings are torn off, gone.

That chord was good, but now

I’ve got the better one.

Why do I meet my ex-?

To find what will be next.

It was complete ex-week.

Stop of relationship.

03/02/2001

It was a birthday party

At February night.

And I was so exited

To use my birthday right.

I saw him not a first time,

I guess that maybe fifth.

It was hard kind of life-style:

To want, to wait, to need.

He was unreally handsome

And cute, and even smart.

And he was there, dancing

A little bit apart.

He had a smile like sun-rise,

Like my smile. Anyway

Twin-smile, twin-charm, twin look-size,

Sun rises twice a day.

It used to be a madness,

Affection and explode.

But on the other – senseless

Unreal love and load.

I was so glad to see him,

I thought “What would I do?”

He didn’t drink a champagne.

“You look so nice” – “You too”.

And not to be continued.

No wind, no sea, no boat.

Unreal useless feelings

Behind the shuted door.

It was my birthday party

Two years back, ago.

And I was so exited

To see him on dance-floor.

His face was my obsession,

And even air he breathed.

My absolute reflection.

But now I’ve reach an ease.

YOURS

1.

Your woman is your prayer

Which you could read by heart.

Her days tie to your days.

Her blood runs in your heart.

Kiss her; she’s not a game,

She is your worldwide fame.

Kiss her, she’s not a mist.

She is great music piece.

Your woman is your Sky –

So deep, so free, so high.

Your sky, where you could fly.

Your ocean, field of rye.

Love isn’t Steeplechase.

Love lightens, moves and waves.

2.

Your man is daily prayer,

Which you could read by heart.

His days tie to your days,

His blood runs in your heart.

Kiss him, he’s not a mist.

He is your writing list.

Your man is solid land,

So wide to understand.

Your land where you could stand,

Your realm, Demesne, your Tend.

Love isn’t Steeplechase.

Love lightens, moves and waves.

PICNIC BAG

We’ve got long list for picnic-bag.

Tomorrow we will rest till dark.

But now, keep strained, we have to pack

Our week-end picnic bag.

We need a pail for shashlyki,

Kefir, black pepper, onions.

Some pork, some beef, some wine and tea,

And red hot chili storming cans.

For those who drink no alcohol

We’ve got a nectar stock.

And huge stock-pile of “Cherub’s goal”

For those who don’t like grog.

We need few standard happy-meals

For our vegetarians.

And those, who fond of steering-wheels

Will choose another variants.

Count baskets with unreckoned fruits,

Cheese sealed up in a box.

And Chinese, Thailand, Indian food,

And barrel “Crazy fox”.

Do not forget some Russian hits

Like pancakes, vodka, caviar.

And salads, like New-Year greets,

And fish from Scandinavia.

Ambrosia, flowers, berry-tarts,

And cookies, made of grass.

Few sculptures, grilles, another staffs,

Utensils, sitting-pads.

Okay, it’s final, pickup’s end,

And overload of trunk.

We need a train for PICNIC-BAND

And tug-boat is a TANK.

Date: 2016-01-03; view: 761