Pratilipi Poetry / Poetry thin ice: Olav Hauge
He was the sea. Profundity own detailed and gray. But suddenly opens the mysterious depths of the mind-changing moments single-view mirror - a blue sea and sky in the morning can open themselves to solitary. Look, the sea is shining, and me and the stars are blue depths. Seven winds
He is falling and falling leaves falling yesterday was like today, where the Eagles culion Jptta Dndion is falling - falling steadily falling over the cliff with his whole weight, no sound, Without a song, is struggling and falling - is spilling out of the canyons culion and crevices, the bubble is white beard, is staying and hanging - is falling where there is no time, trapped in his nightmare is falling - can not remove a word, not a sound ... is gradually revealed truth
Her gift is something crooked, bottle green, tree-Jakhad some vile and bizarre as the sun of spring not want to know about: Apushp Leaf, who grew up in a different world, whose secretion is Sdhaad, and abominable sediments and turbid in stone and black Khohon crawl upward, weeds themselves trapped. culion
Large house are cool. I feel Srd when the first snow flake snow start falling under the earth becomes taut. Then springing up my empty loneliness, and the roof is damaged, and poke the dog screams culion ax frozen, snow, harsh wilderness. My forest is a forest in the forest, my mountain, a mountain in the mountain, and the day is a glow in the night. People who have little animal I Tkrte, Dhuadlke Dgaron and sharp leaves of the pine blight on Jk kill and leave their footprints in the dream are Timtimahten Chhayai. Winter's day
The mountain is the word in your very, tightened his chest and beard is frozen. culion The short answer is Kaundon river mouth, opens for a brief moment, culion and cedar shed little Ykshdhup. Nightingale is Jadhti its golden-peak snow, and the horse is cold muzzle quiver. Refrigerate unbleached pulp from wood burning leaves floating, and is brought to Hazm ax blow.
But now the top disk of the sun breaks into a thousand pieces, throws her off to look cross-eyed culion at the sky. Shell-rocks are blown at high Snobr-lights and trees are to survive in flocks for the night. River Pass Ucwas leaves, sea ice transforms your desire, and in the hearts of green dream sleep under stone with snow. Across the swamp
These trees have fallen culion here are keeping feet on Sthunon bog you can cross safely. Such roots are long, perhaps they have been here for centuries, and there are still traces of algae down their molt, they are still here and take your weight and hurt without let you cross . And from there you will pass up the hill to the lake that you Mahsusate how cool that is also present in memory of the person who had drowned kayak here for myself and he is a weak, crazy man who waters his life and had lost the confidence of eternity. When I wake up
If the floor is your best. Did you shake or suffers he was down? I do not dance, culion but I am comes and goes around busy this or that. Sometimes culion I'll have angry, angry, I'm way out, hits a huge step, I would still be some young, young, is a Goth Hinhinata horse bridle. And sometimes the floor buzzing, and cupboards and stove are some Knkta. She is the dream
This is the dream that we are hiding something miraculous will fall, he must decrease - the time will open the door will open the heart will open up the face of the rock will have to foot the spring - will open that dream, that one We leave in the morning to swim a little, unknown in the harbor. Jonpdiaa and ice house of cards
The poems are not anything special, just a few words put a pile casually. Yet I think it is not a bad thing to them, then I have something like a home for a while. I remember we used to make leaves the Jonpdiaa childhood: We were crawling inside them and were sitting listening culion to the rain forest would feel lonely, nose and hair drops of water - or ice house on Christmas which did not come close to us and candle lighting hole in the sack, cool evenings were sitting there. Some are Purwcinh
If you're still riding beside me, setting sun in all, the solitary mountain Cingariaa and hooves ringing voices from within - you're still riding next to me, in spite of the rain, the roasting When the wind was down, has a severe, rapidly falling on the Dluwa way - he's going down, going straight down towards the floor, I just know it, and come down the night of Srd is. Now I do not mountain enchantingly
Mountain no longer appealed to me. I've lived long enough now between Himrashion cool. I'll culion still go through forests, Srd hear the wind, Giritalon the wait, go back to the river. The last days of the year, you'll get there berry. If you go ahead as you
He was the sea. Profundity own detailed and gray. But suddenly opens the mysterious depths of the mind-changing moments single-view mirror - a blue sea and sky in the morning can open themselves to solitary. Look, the sea is shining, and me and the stars are blue depths. Seven winds
He is falling and falling leaves falling yesterday was like today, where the Eagles culion Jptta Dndion is falling - falling steadily falling over the cliff with his whole weight, no sound, Without a song, is struggling and falling - is spilling out of the canyons culion and crevices, the bubble is white beard, is staying and hanging - is falling where there is no time, trapped in his nightmare is falling - can not remove a word, not a sound ... is gradually revealed truth
Her gift is something crooked, bottle green, tree-Jakhad some vile and bizarre as the sun of spring not want to know about: Apushp Leaf, who grew up in a different world, whose secretion is Sdhaad, and abominable sediments and turbid in stone and black Khohon crawl upward, weeds themselves trapped. culion
Large house are cool. I feel Srd when the first snow flake snow start falling under the earth becomes taut. Then springing up my empty loneliness, and the roof is damaged, and poke the dog screams culion ax frozen, snow, harsh wilderness. My forest is a forest in the forest, my mountain, a mountain in the mountain, and the day is a glow in the night. People who have little animal I Tkrte, Dhuadlke Dgaron and sharp leaves of the pine blight on Jk kill and leave their footprints in the dream are Timtimahten Chhayai. Winter's day
The mountain is the word in your very, tightened his chest and beard is frozen. culion The short answer is Kaundon river mouth, opens for a brief moment, culion and cedar shed little Ykshdhup. Nightingale is Jadhti its golden-peak snow, and the horse is cold muzzle quiver. Refrigerate unbleached pulp from wood burning leaves floating, and is brought to Hazm ax blow.
But now the top disk of the sun breaks into a thousand pieces, throws her off to look cross-eyed culion at the sky. Shell-rocks are blown at high Snobr-lights and trees are to survive in flocks for the night. River Pass Ucwas leaves, sea ice transforms your desire, and in the hearts of green dream sleep under stone with snow. Across the swamp
These trees have fallen culion here are keeping feet on Sthunon bog you can cross safely. Such roots are long, perhaps they have been here for centuries, and there are still traces of algae down their molt, they are still here and take your weight and hurt without let you cross . And from there you will pass up the hill to the lake that you Mahsusate how cool that is also present in memory of the person who had drowned kayak here for myself and he is a weak, crazy man who waters his life and had lost the confidence of eternity. When I wake up
If the floor is your best. Did you shake or suffers he was down? I do not dance, culion but I am comes and goes around busy this or that. Sometimes culion I'll have angry, angry, I'm way out, hits a huge step, I would still be some young, young, is a Goth Hinhinata horse bridle. And sometimes the floor buzzing, and cupboards and stove are some Knkta. She is the dream
This is the dream that we are hiding something miraculous will fall, he must decrease - the time will open the door will open the heart will open up the face of the rock will have to foot the spring - will open that dream, that one We leave in the morning to swim a little, unknown in the harbor. Jonpdiaa and ice house of cards
The poems are not anything special, just a few words put a pile casually. Yet I think it is not a bad thing to them, then I have something like a home for a while. I remember we used to make leaves the Jonpdiaa childhood: We were crawling inside them and were sitting listening culion to the rain forest would feel lonely, nose and hair drops of water - or ice house on Christmas which did not come close to us and candle lighting hole in the sack, cool evenings were sitting there. Some are Purwcinh
If you're still riding beside me, setting sun in all, the solitary mountain Cingariaa and hooves ringing voices from within - you're still riding next to me, in spite of the rain, the roasting When the wind was down, has a severe, rapidly falling on the Dluwa way - he's going down, going straight down towards the floor, I just know it, and come down the night of Srd is. Now I do not mountain enchantingly
Mountain no longer appealed to me. I've lived long enough now between Himrashion cool. I'll culion still go through forests, Srd hear the wind, Giritalon the wait, go back to the river. The last days of the year, you'll get there berry. If you go ahead as you
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