The Fright Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

The fright - compresses the body...
I wish to disappear...
To become a point
(I remember in my innerself
This state of being a Point,
From which I was born...
To outer world...

The fright - compresses...
It has such power...
It has such passion...
It has such a strategy - to grasp,
As with a stone hand:
Shmyak! - And nothing else...

Nothing will be then...
I'm - the POINT. This is the answer.

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In russian:
http: //www.stihi.ru/2012/04/21/10466