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...
=====
In russian:
http: //www.stihi.ru/2012/04/02/8881
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem