Sweeter than honey, stronger than a lion. What’s this? There is such a mystery. Let’s reveal the secret: this is a dream.
I thank you for how you gently, easily pass through the eyelids, and you can no longer be. Pillow under the cheek, palm under the pillow, fresh air from the window into the nostrils — and …
Sweeter than honey, stronger than a lion. What’s this? There is such a mystery.
You sit on a broad back and carry it to where everything is a little more cheerful or sadder, scarier or more beautiful, but where it’s definitely not at all like that.
You heal what the closest friend, the smartest book cannot cure, what the most harmonious music, the most dazzling beauty cannot save from — fatigue. Tired hands, eyes and soul. Rest, relaxation, a much-needed respite — that’s what you give. Thanks to!
You trade evening for morning, which is wiser. A frivolous and powerful wizard with a slightly sly smile, you turn the unbearable, sick, caustic today into a distant, funny, powerless yesterday. And you bring in transparent palms a new day, full of light, tranquility, strength, new hopes. Each time, in the radiance of this newborn day, it becomes clear: you can start again from a blank slate. In this generous swarm of whiteness, openness and sensitivity towards us — such mercy.
You are a hint of the existence of another world. When we sleep, we have a common homeland — common fields, forests, mountains, over which we roam, over which we fly with the same souls, naked bodies, naked, open, simple.
I like to look at the sleeping ones — they are so beautiful because they are visible. That is why it is clear from the sleeping children: here are the angels of God. And for adults — that they were children, and even still some people. You make sweet sniffling, bird-like whistling, funny snoring even the most serious, arrogant, angry. You’re telling the truth. Therefore, everyone who sleeps is immediately so sorry and I want to kiss weightlessly.
You are the time of quiet love. You unite the separated, you fraternally lead by the hand and lead to those who have not been seen for a thousand years. A fragile bridge to the most expensive, valuable and to yourself.
You reveal our secrets to us. Creepy, cherished secrets about us. For example, once I dreamed of a gray-haired old man, a little hunched old man, in fact, who said … But no, dreams cannot be told, they are a mystery, God’s conversation with us. Ts-s.
Winged bogatyr, hug me tighter, wrap your airy lilac blanket around me more tightly, kindle the multi-colored fires of your amazing miracles brighter, put a kind, intelligent guard at the head of the head, who will not allow anyone and nothing superfluous, and — good night to everyone!
See you tomorrow, friends — better, different.