Pretentiously speaking, nervously,
Philosopher was vexing Truth,
For hours with himself was filling
One hall, the other, with bright mood.
We also were listening to him
For long... But, what we feel to end?
The noodle-words has covered ears...
A way to find the Truth is sometimes strange...
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In russian:
http: //www.stihi.ru/2009/08/11/6296
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem