After Balmont My Hand Doesn't Stretch To Pen. Poem by Liza Sud

After Balmont my hand doesn't stretch to pen.
Cause in Balmont Poetry has completely achieved its aim,
Cause with Balmont your lips are dancing the best of flame,
they are kissing God, and sweet angels are kissing them.

I was shocked by Balmont, loved, killed and beaten.
Balmont makes me numb, like white page - I'm smitten.
I have found the voice - and its Russian voice,
that is so unreal - like date with gods.

I believe in poetry more than ever.
Just his fame went down - with noone to share him.
It's a new clear shell that he's putting on me,
it's a change of thoughts and blood makes new turning.

I open his book as the case with diamonds.
And he moves me, rules as the flow of wild winds,
and I go with him to the new worlds, ages,
Better than a dream, better than pure angels.