Monday, December 16, 2013

Feel one

My preaching is finished,
My preaching is done,
My righteousness is discontinued,
I only now wish just to stay by your side,
To listen, to be and to feel one.


The ghostly ghosts are scattered all around me,
The ghostly time is ghostly passing through,
The ghostly light is shining without hours,
Through ghostly darkness ghosting without hue.

My ghostly image fleets into the ghost sky,
Of ghostly stars that we are passing by,
My ghostly mother, memory of old time
My ghostly father - name inside my mind.

My ghostly spirit seeing its own image
The ghost reflection of its ghostly self,
In ghostly mirror ghost's own nameless vision,
The ghost inside my head is not myself.

My wonder of wonder of wonders

My wonder of wonder of wonders,
Completeness already complete
And hours to hours to hours
I'm Being the Being the It.

Light holds the tensions in its truth

The gleaming of light is endless,
The carriages we're passing through
Are simply reflections of tensions
That light holds inside in its truth.

The IT

I am like the star on a plane
I'm every and one of your starlets,
And seeing I will not complain,
The light that's inside me is boundless.
It pierces through presence and being,
It wishes for me to complete
That which has no end, no beginning,
That's staying here always - The IT.

Stars in the dark

We shine like the stars in the dark
And every step taken is holy
And every one light little spark
Shines brightly and follows its calling.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Who Am I?

Have you been inside the silent womb?
Have you known the care of circulation
Of your mother's blood life passing through
The placenta for your self-creation?

Have you ever felt so deeply safe
As inside the cave of her warm body,
Have you been enveloped by the cape -
Moving liquid cover of survival?

Have you ever been without a form?
Have you ever had no solid body?
Did you ever question your old norm
Did you ask - Who Am I - deep inside me?


Have you touched a void with your arms,
Have you felt it inside you beating,
Have you fallen so far apart,

Town of Gold

Town of Gold

Beneath the sky of blue
There is a town of gold
With clear gates transparent through
And star that's shining bold.

A garden in that town
With flowers and the greens,
Inside it roam the animals
Of beauty never seen.

One is like yellow lion maned with fire,
Another - bull with fullness in his eyes,
With them golden eagle of the sky
Whose glance is so bright and unforgettable.

And in the sky of blue
The only star that shines
It is all yours, oh angel my,
It is yours at all times.

The loving one is loved,
The one who's light is saint,
May you be led by only star
Inside the garden's gate.

There you'll be met
By lion maned with fire
And by blue bull with fullness in his eyes,
With them golden eagle of the sky,
Whose glance is so bright and unforgettable.

Города Золотой
(Аквариум, БГ, стихи Анри Волохонского)

Под небом голубым есть город золотой.
С пpозpачными воротами и яркою звездой.
А в городе том - сад, все травы, да цветы
Гуляют там животные невиданной красы.

Одно, как желтый огнегpивый лев,
Другое - вол исполненный очей.
С ними золотой орел небесный
Чей так светел взор незабываемый.

А в небе голубом горит одна звезда.
Она твоя, о, ангел мой, она твоя всегда.
Кто любит тот любим, кто светел тот и свят
Пускай ведет звезде тебя дорогой в дивный сад.

Тебя там встретит огнегpивый лев
И синий вол, исполненный очей.
С ними золотой орел небесный
Чей так светел взор незабываемый.

 История песни:

Monday, November 11, 2013

Jack Kerouac responses

The tree looks
like a dog
Barking at Heaven

I love this image for the simplicity and animation of the inanimate . It is a simple observation that brings us into the inner world of the artist and merges the tree with the dog in his imagination. The tree is given a doggy action, yet the purpose of this action is very tree like - the tree is reaching into heaven, as trees do, and it's purposeful reaching becomes barking at some point - when the artist sees it and watches the whole picture through the humna eyes. This Haiku is a Hymn to human existance and our ability to merge objects and to play with their meanings. The separation of them, seeming for the mind, dissolves when the imagery is applied in union. in this metaphore the differences disappear and something not combinable fo rthe mind is put together, which s a beautiful purpose of a creation.
I love the images also for their beauty - a dog barking at heaven is a very alive image and use of this image shows the inner true yet many times unnoticed aliveness of the trees. the secret of the trees lies there, too - they are alive,the same way as dogs!
I love this poem.
Aroooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!Ruf, Ruf, Ruf!

A black bull
 and a white bird
Standing together on the shore

This image again brings into balance the two seemng opposites in many different forms - it merges together black and white letting them stay in one zone and also brings into one the ephereal bird image with the harsh and down-to-earth image of a bull. They are so different, yet they find a connection and stay together on the shore.
Black and white.... a racial comment?;)
No one said that. Tssssssss......


What is Buddhism?
 - A crazy little
 Bird blub

This message daunts me with its juxtaposition of the grandiousity of the question and the simplicity of the answer, it ultimately says - all the big questions have simple answers which are based on experiential observation of reality. There might be a certain interpretation to what the artist is trying to say - the meaninglessness of big words and Buddhism which he practices in itself is just a crazy little bird blub - it is not the form that matters. Maybe he meant something else, that is how I read it. I may be stereotypically close to truth=)

on the Holy Book -
My knees are cold

this Kerouac's poem is nothing but an observation of the reality. It consists of two parts separated by nature of sensations - in the first half of the poem they are visual and can create thought response, while in the second one the sensation is purely physical and it goes only to the extent of simple noticing of existance of the feeling - the knees are cold. He does not analyse the happening, neither does he offer it any interpretation - it is just what is and breaks up the thought pattern in me that is ready to arise to follow the "Holy Book" name, which is a very beautiful and pleasant effect.
I would love to see people simply noticing that their knees are cold while doing spiritual practices  - or looking at the Holy Books. Books are not the ultimate answer.
Something can be given by them - knowledge, information, but the immediate reality of the moment - the cold knees - is immensely more important.
This opens us to the possibility of being Now, Here every moment.
That's the ultimate truth.

Frank Samperi response

going down to the river
I look across to the hills
my spirit in union
triumph over opposites

My inner responce to this poem is contact with the experiecne of the moment - when the person plunges into the present moment so intensely that the opposites disappear. The description of the outer artifacts of that is merely the reflection of inner beauty that unfolds through it. The peace is immesurable. The joy and the bliss are the nature of things - whatever the things are. My love is simply described in this meditative poem. Thank you, Frank Sampery, for the glimpse into eternity!
you have given us a chance to connect through time. Thank you!

Thursday, October 31, 2013

Go there, not knowing where, Find that, not knowing what

Shrink yourself down into the ocean,
Reach deep down for the stars,
Follow the road before beginning,
Grow the roots above the sky,
Fall apart into wholeness,
Come back to the future,
Dissolve into a form,
Think emotions into life,
Believe the box into endlessness,
Catch timelessness with a clock,
Hear a clap with one hand,
Fish a bird from the pool,
Stand walking,
Step out of this moment,
Kill yourself and don't be a killer,
Be a slave to the mind consciously,
Enjoy bitterly,
Dry yourself with water,
Live in the moment of dying,
Grow in a degradation,
Widen into a molecule,
Let the time see you passing,
Know herself,
Shut up the silence,
Scream a taste,
Steal inner peace,
Support the air,
Pretend the innocence,
Judge out of the box,
Lose yourself finding,
Mindfully lead a death,
Surprise the riddle,
Wear eyes on your glasses,
Be in the safety of killing,
Be in danger of a home,
Lock your heart open,
Make a movement in stillness,
Love systematically,
Boil the water down to ice,
Sleep wide awake,
Love your nextdoor alien,
Be sweet like salt,
Glitter like a black hole,
Smile your sadness,
Fall down through imponderability,
Weigh the weightlessness,
Build a city from vacuum,
Follow your directions of my making,
Create yourself before you existed
And always be someone else.

How is my darkness?

So you ask me, how is the darkness,
You, who has never felt it before?

It is
when I am lower than my feet
It is
when I see monsters inside fellow humans
It is
when I turn into a monster myself
It is
when I feel a deep well leading into the darkness forever and ever inside my chest to the point that I can not feel anything - even the darkness - any more
It is
when I stare into the eyes of my best friend and know that she is as alien to me as a thousand light years away galaxy and she can not help, when I desparately need it
It is
when I keep the cry of a thousand voices in my chest silent
It is
when I fall so low that I have to gather my bones by pieces and assemble them together to make up what I don't even know what looks like – me
It is
when I hear my mother call me a bitch and drag me by the hair across the long apartment corridor
It is
when I am beaten by a belt with a metal plaque to make me know that
I shouldn't speak!
I shouldn't speak!
I shouldn't speak!
It is
 when I am told to shut up and be silent every day of my life
It is
when I know the rule of being obedient so well that I am ready to vanish in my obedience
It is
when I hear my parents say that happiness does not really exist
It is
when I hear my parents say that such a girl like me is not needed to anyone
It is
when I am being told that I am pathetic and do not have a right for sadness when I cry
It is
when I hate the others on the inside as if they were insects, ribbed, disgusting, disdainful, noones
It is
when my classmates' laughter follows me like a poisonous vermin and stings me every time I make a movement
It is
when my teachers betray my brightest hopes and leave them shattered without a sense of resentment
It is
when I see a sunrise blank through and inside out
It is
when it looks like there is nothing on the outside to live for
It is
when I am fighting for my sanity alone in a circle of enemies with friendly smiles
It is
when «dear» ones can not help but hurt
It is
when I deminish myself down into a fly, into a molecule, into an atom, into nothing... as I am told I already am nothing
It is
when i hate myself and all the nonsense i am speaking knowing I am supposed to be happy and not supposed to at the same time.
It is
when i meet myself in my darkest dreams holding a knife ready to stab my own heart
 It is
when I say DAMN IT with such intensity as if it is going to burn me on the place from the inside
It is
when I hear the songs of far away roads die slowly in my heart
It is 
when I watched my friends liveliness fade away in front of my eyes
It is
when I am so hungry for touch that my whole body turns into a fire of lustful desire and pain

It is
when I feel empty like an empty bowl with air sucked out from its bottom
It is
when I felt a black hole in my chest devouring every object around it
It is
when I am hugged only at the verge of an emotional breakdown
It is
when my mom tells me «I love you»  only when I ask for it
It is
when I stay away from home in order to be safe
It is
when I live in one apartment with four garpias
It is
when I feel so lonely as if I am a single star in outer space
It is
when I earn money to heal the depression that my family does not see
It is
when I feel like an invisible girl in a crowd
It is
when I write secret  letters to strangers just to say that my  feelings are real
It is
when I hid my tears from bullying and laughter of my parents

To you,
who has never seen me though looked at me many times,
To you,
who likes your comfort when I am smiling
To  you,
who asks me to live a life for you -
How can I tell it to you if a thousand words in black ink won't be enough to speak the darkness that filled me?
How can I show it to you if the vastest emptyness would not reach that emptiness inside me?
 How can I dance it to you if the movements of that dance will break my body?
How can I sing it to you if a voice of a thousand wells echoing will not create the tension that I felt in the air?
How can I paint it for you if the blackest black is not dark enough to color that darkness?
How can I be it if in the loneliness I have felt I do not exist?
How can I call it a name if all the letters of the languages of Earth gathered in one single sound will not be loud enough to scream it?
How can I do it for You if You don't believe in what You can see?
How can I trust You to see if You are looking through the millions of reflections of TV nonsense?
How can I bend to touch you if your hand is always running away?
How can I feel you from the inside for you?
I could beat you,
I could tear you apart
I could open up your ribcage and cut your heart out
I could put an endless TV screen in your head
I could promise you to be your friend and betray you
I could promise to teach you and forget about you
I could shut down every word you speak
I could dull down every idea you think
I could uproot you and leave you hanging by your own hair
I could scream swears into your ears every day
I could clutch your fists so that you can not move
I could shut your mouth so that you can not speak
I could give you a gift and take it back by a word
I could drive you crazy and leave you alone in a foreign town
 I could ban your happiness
 I could torture you for 22 years
And leave you knowing what the darkness is.

Saturday, October 26, 2013

Along my street for oh, so many years

Along my street for oh,so many years

translation by Olga Komissarova

song by Alla Pugacheva,
poetry by Bella Ahmadulina
music by Michael Tariverdiev

Along my street for oh, so many years,
The sound of steps is heard - my friends are leaving.
The leaving slow of my beloved friends
That dark behind the windows is in need of.

Oh, loneliness, how harsh your grasp!
And sparkling with compasses of iron
How coldly do you close the circle's ends
So deaf to useless pleas that are futile now.

Let in your woods on toes to raise
On other end of slowly moving gesture,
To find the leaves and bring them to my face
And feel the sense of orphanhood as pleasure.

Oh, gift me quiet of your libraries,
Of your concerts motifs so strict and proper,
And wisely I will soon forget with ease
Those who are dead and who are living on now.

And I will know the wisdom and the grief,
The objects will convey their inner meaning,
The Nature leaning on my shoulders will
Announce the childish secrets of its keeping.

And only then - from tears and from the dark
And from the poor ignorance of times old
The dear features of my friends will spark
And then dissolve again into the void.

 Песня Аллы Пугачевой
Стихи Беллы Ахмадулиной
Музыка Микаэла Таривердиева

По улице моей который год

По улице моей который год
звучат шаги - мои друзья уходят.
Друзей моих медлительный уход
той темноте за окнами угоден.

О одиночество, как твой характер крут!
Посверкивая циркулем железным,
как холодно ты замыкаешь круг,
не внемля увереньям бесполезным.

Дай стать на цыпочки в твоем лесу,
на том конце замедленного жеста
найти листву, и поднести к лицу,
и ощутить сиротство, как блаженство.

Даруй мне тишь твоих библиотек,
твоих концертов строгие мотивы,
и - мудрая - я позабуду тех,
кто умерли или доселе живы.

И я познаю мудрость и печаль,
свой тайный смысл доверят мне предметы.
Природа, прислонясь к моим плечам,
объявит свои детские секреты.

И вот тогда - из слез, из темноты,
из бедного невежества былого
друзей моих прекрасные черты
появятся и растворятся снова.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

I love you all

I love you all,
Progression is completing,
I love you truly with my open heart
I honestly admit I've been deceiving
You all with my acquaintance from the start.
I've been pretending to be everknowing,
I've been pretending to be evertrue,
The truth is I am simply as you going
Above this Earth and looking for it too.
For what? For something that's not fleeting.
For what? For something to hold on,
For what? For all we have been needing,
For one that's me, for place that's home.

I love myself

I love myself and truly understanding
What loving is
We only see the truth
We see the implication of the bending
Of heartfelt tears with a smiley tooth,
We live upon ourselves,
We live completely,
We live condemned to happiness for all,
For as we go outside it, it is keeping
The trace that leads us back throughout the fall.
We only can mistakingly acknowledge
The separation line between the two -
There is no suffering without the beauty
There are no tears without light shining through.
For we are all inevitably Onesome,
For we are true together in the doubt
For we don't see where future and the past is,
We make it up, we are just Here and Now.


We know of our mothers and our fathers,
We know of brothers who came out to write,
We know a lot - too much about the others,
About ourselves - not really, not quite.
We know not depth of our understanding
Because we hide it deep behind the bars
Of laughter and pretentious fake ascending
Instead of dealing simply with the task.
We know not love, for we don't let it blossom,
We know not laughter, for we hide the tears,
And so, according to the Holy Wholesome
We must let go and TRUTH FULL OUT RELEASE.

Let Go

We're dying slowly here in every moment,
Unless we fully deeply realize
That happiness is fleeting - it keeps flowing,
Without an end and, too, without disguise.
Though happiness's complete in its progression
There's something we can never ever know
And here's the only answer to the question -
Just trust it, be it, simply just LET GO.

We only have a moment

We only have a moment, just a chance
To see ourselves completely unrelated
To all that's going on inside the dance
Of life and love and totally embarce it.

Write You from a Big letter

"I love your braces" Eric de Barros

they say never judge a book by its cover
and in the same way don’t judge each other
by what we see with our eyes alone
but I can see straight through your bones,
I judge you all by your beautiful faces
I love your acne and your braces
I love your teeth with those gaping spaces
I love your muffin top and your big nose
I love your huge ears and your hairy toes
I love your laugh and how you snort
I love your moles and that big wart
I love you tall and love you short
I love your dimples and pimples and your lazy eye
I love your thighs and that one stye
I love the way you look when you cry
I love you because I know one day you’ll die
I love you in sickness and in health
I love you, because in your eyes I see myself.
they said never judge a book by its cover
and in the same way don’t judge each other
but we are the same person with different proportions
your face is mine, just with a beautiful distortion
your path is mine just from a different perspective
the route is different but to the same objective
and it goes to show, since love is infective
I want you to know now because tomorrow’s too late:
I could not be happier to judge you by your cover
because in your eyes I see my mother
I see my father and my brother
I see my best friend and my lover
I love your vaginas and dicks and all your butt cheeks
I love the way you stutter when you speak
I love how when you try not to sneeze, you squeak
I love your internal strength and your weak physique
I love your weirdness, you fucking freak!
you’ll never be original but you’re already unique.
so by your cover, I’ll keep judging you
because we’re already in love, no matter what you do.

 Write You from a Big letter

Write You from a Big letter,
Why not, if You could forget it?
That You equals I
And I am Alive
As much as You Do.
I see it True,
As much as you Hear
My Truth, that's near.
As much as You bloom,
I blossom too.
As much as We share -
I can't compare
Me to You
Because we live through
Each Other.
And every hour
Like my Mother
You are my Brother,
You are my Sister and my Father
For We are One and only Power.

Friday, October 4, 2013

A nest or a trap?

My home -
outside - a cosy nest,
Inside is filled with spikes.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Samurai Song

  by Robert Pinsky
When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof. When I had
No supper my eyes dined.

When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.

When I had no father I made
Care my father. When I had
No mother I embraced order.

When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had no
Enemy I opposed my body.

When I had no temple I made
My voice my temple. I have
No priest, my tongue is my choir.

When I have no means fortune
Is my means. When I have
Nothing, death will be my fortune.

Need is my tactic, detachment
Is my strategy. When I had
No lover I courted my sleep.

This poem is the essense of what we are here to be. Fluid, flexible in our meaning and understanding the inevitability of what we call "evil" and the salvation in seeing it as a part of the eternal circle of trust to what is.
He turns his evil into blessing and that is what we all can do. I feel greatly inspired by this poem and connected to it. it is my principle of life too. 
We should not be afraid.
We should be carrying ourselves with dignity and trust, like Samurais.
I am a Samurai too.
I am a Warrior of Love.
As every one of You.
As every one of Us.

Some days response

Some Days

  by Billy Collins

Some days I put the people in their places at the table,
bend their legs at the knees,
if they come with that feature,
and fix them into the tiny wooden chairs.

All afternoon they face one another,
the man in the brown suit,
the woman in the blue dress,
perfectly motionless, perfectly behaved.

But other days, I am the one
who is lifted up by the ribs, 
then lowered into the dining room of a dollhouse
to sit with the others at the long table.

Very funny,
but how would you like it
if you never knew from one day to the next 
if you were going to spend it

striding around like a vivid god,
your shoulders in the clouds, 
or sitting down there amidst the wallpaper,
staring straight ahead with your little plastic face?

Some nights I read poems. Some nights I wonder how much sense they make. This one does. It describes the observed with the initial intention of showing us a part of truth - only a part of truth of the world, which is showing us what we see. What it is not showing us is that which we don't see.
The two poems given for analysys are very similar. They are prose-like, describing the ordinary in the obedient and ordinary manner - this is what happens, this is what I write. But there is more to these words. There is a thought put into every single one of them, speaking of the emotions that the writer has infused the mood of his poem with. We see visual images such as "tiny wooden chairs, brown suit, blue dress, dollhouse, long table". They create the atmosphere of violence, tension, nostalgia. The sad colors. The dry shapes. A lot of childhood. The amazing contrast in the coexistence of both in the language of the poem.
Sad childhood. The author speaks, of course, of his daily life, something that he sees around him as a grown up, but the words he uses for it inevitably bring us back to the childhood images that he has consciously or unconsciously connected to the real situation. The poem is filled with the idea of using someone and being used. People are things (dollhouse, "bend their legs", "come with this feature" speaking of people). The mentioning of a dollhouse brings in the image of puppets and puppetier - someone, who plays in a violent way with some inanimate, but very much alive for children's imaginations objects.
The adjectives  here serve the purpose of conveying the emotions vaguely, much more so do the verbs. If we look at verbs in the progression of the composition, we can notice an intricate pattern appearing: "put, bend, come with the feature, fix, face, lifted up by the ribs, lowered, sit". The poem starts with the outburst of controlling energy from the side of the poet - he violates the other people. Then comes a turn for other people to violate him.
 He says this is life. The "ordinary". Sadly it is so, even more sadly it is not so too. The expressions are caught, the ordinary observed.
People are dead. They have no chance of coming alive - that is where I think he misses the point. As a human, not as a poet.
Artifice is a certain kind of blindness. Blindness can only be connected to the lack of understanding, not lack of truth. The truth of being alive is always there, sometimes we pretend for a moment we are alive - and then we are dead. But we always have a chance of being fully alive again as all along the way we have been nothing but ourselves, alive, we can be nothing else. We have been acting. The theater is a part of real life. It has always been that. The idea of the separation of theater from reality has existed only in our mind.
The simple observation of the pain of the heart that meets the fakeness and the inequality, artifice in the way people deal with each other simply by expression can warm up the heart. The poem gives consolation to the heart purely by speaking out the truth about the reality that the author sees. He does not make any judgements or conclusions out of it – he simply states the fact and lets us decide for ourselves. We can either feel the pain and take it as our own, connect to it and mourn it – dollike people with plastic faces, perfectly behaved, perfectly obedient – we can admit that in ourselves and by the compassion of experiencing become the live person in that – or we can judge the author for the «narrowness of the mind» and stiffen ourselves up to seeing fully his expression. Which one do I chose? I like the first one. I have been fighting a lot with that poem but I've come to accept it as a part of reality through the openness of my heart to everything that the author has to say and softness to it. That is my decision. Which one is yours?

If you have never felt so dark

by me

If you have never felt so dark,
You are your true self losing,
For shining light that lights your spark
The darkness is infusing.

If you have never felt so sad,
You will not feel so happy
For if you don't feel pain you're dead
Or else you are just napping.

If you have never felt so deep,
You're fooling your own senses
For only trees that deep roots keep
Reach high in their balance.

If you have never felt so blue,
You will not feel the orange
For sun is shining in it's hue
Above the sky's blue coverage.

+1 =) It went before.

You don't know the darkness of the being

You don't know the darkness of the being,
You don't know how deep you have been lost,
Trying to find superficial meaning
In the intertwining of the words.
Simple yet not easy to accomplish  -
Dive inside and shatter all the dreams,
All the fantasies we have built up for duty,
Of the heart, of closure, tend to LIVE!

Tuesday, September 17, 2013


The mountain 

Zen riddle:

A mountain is a mountain.
A mountain is not a mountain.
A mountain is only a mountain.

A mountain is a mountain.
A mountain is inside me.
It is closed,
It is frozen,
It is lost.
A mountain is lost.

A mountain is not a mountain.
A mountain is in the void of not knowing what it is.
It moves speratically.
It does not see it's stable.
A mountain sees it is bigger than a mountain.

A mountain is a mountain .
A mountain sees it is just a mountain.
It's only a mountain.
The circle is complete.

Do circles continue after they die?
I don't know.
I'm a mountain.
I'm alive.

P.S. Alison, please do not edit it yet - I am going to rework it myself and to update it by the end of the week. Thanks,

Friday, September 13, 2013



"Wound is a place where the light enters you"

The stiffness is the sign of closure
Of soul to all that's being said,
The open wounds are torture to the soldier
Disturbed by even gentle touch of hand.
If we perceive that wound is softly bleeding
For simple reason that it was imposed,
We will persist to see the bigger picture
And not to blame the hands and their pose.

Friday, August 30, 2013



There's no place that is wider for soul,
In the sky clouds will float above all,
Through the thousands of years, never fall
Into changes below which are earthly.

Full of sky here is breath of the waves,
With its rhythm water measurement makes
Of the years, without false or mistakes,
Never growing old and never dying.

All encompassing here and now,
All reflecting in thin surface gown,
And in depths that are hidden from thou,
Gently savoring secrets of making.

In the sky-sea above flying land
The cloud-ships slowly follow their trend,
And the birches have weaved their hands
In the dancing with wind that lasts decades.

At their feet the rows of mossy stones
Keep the secrets of old and their bones,
As they've been left by melting of snows,
And the mystery labyrinth knowledge.

An eternity, youth of the gods,
Love, dreams, prayer and tart tasting blood,
Everpresent quest of life and heart,
All is merged into one endless day....

Russian version(original):


Шире места для души не найти,
Облака по небу в вечном пути
Будут сквозь тысячелетья идти,
Не касаясь земли перемен.

Небом полная, здесь дышит вода,
Плавным ритмом отмеряя года,
Не фальшивя, не спеша никуда,
Не старея и не умирая.

Все вмещая, что есть здесь и сейчас,
В тонкой пленке отражая рассказ,
А в глубинах, утаенных от глаз,
Охраняя сон тайн мирозданья.

В море неба у парящей земли
Проплывают облака-корабли,
И березы свои руки сплели
В танце с ветром длиной в дестилетья.

В их ногах замшелых камней гряды
Сторожат, как их оставили льды,
Давней памяти о мертвых следы,
Лабиринтов таинственных знанья.

Вечность, молодость богов, и любовь,
Сны, молитвы в небо, терпкая кровь,
Бесконечный вопрос жизни вновь –
Все слилось в нескончаемый день...

Monday, August 26, 2013

Sandwich Song

The cherries on the cake
                      passionate red
Like the sunset blood of warriors
Who died defending these
            breastlike expressions
Of women in their villages.
The sun is shining on top of cream,
Golden rivers, honey-dew creases
Run through its hills.
Once there was snow
On top of the mountains
That we felt was ours
In its beautiful shine.
Once rivers ran through creases,
Honeylike in the rays of setting sun,
Goldlike in the eyes of invaders.
Gold of corn equals to the gold of sun,
Does it equal to the gold of coins?
That is what we asked our brothers and sisters,
When winter came and
Cream-snow filled in the valleys
Where once there was sun.
It shattered forests,
It scattered lands,
It turned the soul of the land we all owned
Greasy and raining with tears of our
                      children, women, elders
Who bowed before the storm
That was coming in from the North Lands.
The storm called war.
So cold, so inimical is the sandwich lying in front of me -
Child of many deaths and many tragedies,
Born by the land we have owned once,
With honey-creases of canyons,
With golden rivers in the
Cream-white snow,
Cherry-red love for our homeland,
Breadlike hope for life that holds
All Mother Earth's children together.