隔了密密的藤叶推开窗户,午夜带了寒露的冷气直扑了进来。头脑清爽了,心却仍旧是潮润润的。我知道,这一夜又要失眠了。这失眠牵紧了一句忧郁的、近乎哭泣的诗句: 我要用手牵着童年, 把自己的生命归还。这是2002年,在新世纪刚刚开始就自杀的俄罗斯才女诗人尼卡·图尔宾娜留下的诗句。如果说能有什么来映照和爱护一位诗人心灵印迹的话,我想,在 After the dense vine leaves open the window, cold air with cold dew at midnight rushed in. Fresh mind, the heart is still moist moist. I know that I need to sleep again this night. This insomnia captivated a melancholy, almost crying verse: I want to hold my childhood hand in hand and return my life. This is a poem left in 2002 by Nika Turbina, a Russian talented poet who committed suicide at the dawn of a new century. If there is anything to reflect and cherish the mind of a poet, I think, at