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ArtistI melt over night cities... Olzhas Suleimenov I fly by, As if in a planetarium, The lights flicker, giving away secrets. Having wrapped their legs, the women read. My story by the light of the lamps. Not everything is important in life. The lights. The lights are silent on all the roads. The porthole is damp from the fog, The frequent lights grow, merging.
A woman in a winter hat observes a luminous, futuristic cityscape with glowing skyscrapers and flying vehicles under a twilight sky.