Jun 17, 2008, 6:41 AM

На един лицемер 

  Poetry » Phylosophy
734 0 6




 

                                                                     на един лицемер

 

 

                                           И когато тялото изстива

                                           си даваш сметка,

                                           че нищо не си бил.

                                           Нищо от Нещото...

                                           Че не си дал онзи данък,

                                           който си дължал,

                                           че не си  бил ти,

                                           че не си...

                                           Просто - не си.

                                           И когато изстинеш,

                                           казват хората: „Даде!”

                                           А какво? -

                                           Нищо от Нищото.

                                           Просто

                                           сякаш не си живял.

                                           И наистина -

                                           живял ли си?

 

© Илзе Енчева All rights reserved.

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