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Poems
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I set in stone, flowers and sheet of paper will be.
Themselves will take up only a handful of white wind,
But directly you handfuls of this pitrūks seven spans.
Neejiet you, you - Vina ziedējusi.
You nelāčojiet - ābeļziedos availabe,
un lakatiņš, co Vina atstājusi.
to secure for the worse we feel.
Protect himself sky
no longer just a black ash viz
like life - boil and details.
THEN opened and released a Handful of somewhere
The Asterisk gloomy ...
now a lot of hurt,
now no longer cry
I guess the flower will be the place,
Where it cried and laughed.
Between Midsummer and Peter.
Summer envelops you arm around her shoulders
And takes
On the road between rye and pasture.
We remain
Only our own
Neizraudātās tears
How ever neizpēlētās
Childhood games.
Chilled, rough autumn light
You fall down on the forehead.
Tell me, mamma, how can I
You warm?
Nanūsorguoju that you,
That naizjiemu
Suopu krysta either tovom drabūšom rūkom.
Not no more pain, no tears,
God handed us a hit.
Tek tecēdama sun,
Leaching, the dead couple.
As painful and as a measure of happiness.
What remains? In nothing more.
Neither joy, dreams, tears, and no hatred.
besprent sia
where there ceases range
time window opens
Fate slowly insinuate themselves into the ground and covered with grass
and leaving the hot line
the luminosity and breathable
Your body like a river outflow
but I still have the fog
the white bar across the river
the fog still has me
brightness is known. The only thing that will save.
It is time for now, when I have time over the tomb.
starting life with a dialer.
I nesacelšu high winds
finally lives of calling.
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