Kufr
As crystal thumbtacks of rain fell in volleys of a sort,
my eyes were cushioned by a well, soft crying of a sort.
The Heaven is now aroused, by a dirge sung in the street,
as singers swim in tears that swell mountains of a sort.
And yet these eyes still cover me from your monsoon. (In my
head) you sang: «Shivers cast a spell in phantoms of a sort».
So laugh, as devils croon! The world has drowned, but Mikhail has
still lived by moonbeams, left unfell, in darkness of a sort.














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