In the subreality where Strugatsky were right,
Where the house Baba Nadi cherry grows,
And the house is not bombed, our children run a Horde
Meet a starship painted to look like a stork.
In the subreality where lawyers are not wolves, and clerks,
Where we all love life, not balance,
Old books on a crooked bookcase,
Hand-written books, faithfully keep the dream,
And they know what will come true. Next to them are oranges,
My daughter, dangling her legs, wants to become a Progressor.
And the ships disappear into the blazing blue,
In embracing blackness, in what we can't catch up.
In the reality in which noiseless trains
Slow down at the endless gardens
We change our sad habit
require confirmation of true words
Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.
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