From a point - a line will go to the hard eternity...
The other line - obliquely - will cross the first one.
And this is - a plane endless, no one
Could imagine its sides, and destiny.
Everything was born out of a small point... But I'm careless...
Where in it was 'I'? My essense? ... the question...
Lyudmila Purgina's Other Poems
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