Monthly Archives: Февраль 2012

O Poetry, Don’t Die…

to L

o, poetry, don’t die
when even barren earth meets beauty of the sky
and willows stop waving their hands unveiling spring
there will be no need of eagles on the wing
all hearts will join the immortal light
and gladly outshine the deadly night
there is no death, we fear her not
horizons will cease to mark the earthly hump
your throat won’t stifle tears when brought a lump
let there be no imperfection, no fatal flaw
except for one
so boldly reinvented by the young men
while sitting on the glassy sky-lit floor
that’s poetry — don’t die!
take final pains, once more, to teach us,
and let us learn from you
how we should rhyme in heaven
this very word with any of the sort,
like ocean, captain, seven…


I translate

I secretly translate
My lofty dreams and fears
Across the seas that fill
A goblet,
Already full of tears,
Into the language spilt
Over a land of birds
That tweet and chirp my guilt
Into another world,
So alien to me,
But can I, yet, abstain
From voice that beckons glee
With rhymes of that terrain,
Of many species’ nest
Who read my faith with zeal
And sing it to the starry west,
Translated, unconcealed…


This entanglement
Of branches and twigs,
What a text
To be read in betwixt
Their tight-knotted lines
To unravel the meaning
Of the deep-rooted mines.
Of essential minds
That impetuous urge
All the way through
They grind,
Digging up to a surge —
Come and watch
Revelation emerge.
What a sight —
Bare roots
Well-exposed to light,
Lest the foliage should dry
Then the bark
Like a body dissected
To lie in the dark

Jan 25, 2011


I’m looking through my only window
Seeing the birds scattered
All around the world of snow
Seeing passersby
Amidst the frozen trees,
Myself, unperturbed and elegiac
Walking down that dusty asphalt
Past or present, rain or shine,
Wet or dry,
Walk a mile…
Along with the midsummer wind
Or midwinter mix…
The tip of my shoe
Lazily kicking the balls
Of crumpled yesterday’s papers
And a used can of Coke
Its half silenced tinkle heard
Like a moonlight serenade sung
To this half rubbled town…
And oh, so many things I see
Through my only half blinded window
Which is like one of so many others’
I, of all people; all people, of me.

Febr 1, 2012