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Serge Lyrewing Poem
I.
He was patient very-very
with child's tenderness in eyes
yellow winged angel's unwary,
He was living quiet in skies.
Without disputes, without roughness,
without want to weep and moan,
He was dreaming among heartless
building cloud castles alone.
He was waking up with dawning,
He was smiling gazing down,
His green eye was squinting wanting
to be liked in feathered gown
with the birds flied by with singing,
with the distant running clouds,
with the inks and pages and being
of the pen. And there's no doubts
ruddy cheeks of his were sunny,
It was playing of the sun,
Secret light was kind and funny
from his fire and it was fun.
II.
He was fine and he was stately,
But he had his yellow wings,
Other angels envied greatly
with their miserable sins.
“How you dare to have that feather
with the ochre? Tell us why?”
They were frowned without the reason,
Tongue of rumor's sharp and dry.
Some were saying to him straightly,
Someone whispered by his back,
"Be like others", it was badly,
He was like in jail that's black.
He became to sigh with sorrow,
Fire burned in frail heart,
Gloomy mime of sad tomorrow,
Wings were weak, and it was hard
To spread wings since this bad moment,
He was looking for some rest
In saint places he had torment
Standing cruel pain and angst.
III.
Everything was just like usual,
The was the sun and the was the moon,
God had known about confusion.
Noise has covered his room.
Cherubs, Seraph and the other,
And the Lord didn't break the laws:
"Come out, yellow winged brother,
You should say, I'm wrong, of course,
look in face of angel's army,
Hold your temper and your pride,
Hide your feather that is sunny,
You are wrong and it's all right!"
Angel wept, his tears were bitter:
"All my thoughts are pure and clean,
I'm not guilty with my glitter."
Like in autumn (it was mean)
Maple leaves - feathers were falling
near Almighty's gorgeous feet.
No one wished to cry in longing,
But the clouds were having need.
And they cried in puddles, really,
Angel made his soundless shout,
God was angry, willy-nilly
He had driven servants out.
IV.
Being kind to His child
God embraced this angel tight:
"Do not cry, do not be wild,
I didn't want that silly fight,
I expected peace and glory,
Unity, but all is done,
No more pain, I'm really sorry,
Yellow angel, like the sun
light of wings of yours is given
for my grey hairs, for my rest,
You're unhappy, you're like demon
among them, but you're my best.
Leave my place for time, no power
to ease burden of your hell,
Lose your burden right this hour,
I am blessing you, farewell!"
V.
Yellow angel left the garden
without doubts, oh, Paradise!
Not alive, not dead, unburdened
He found hell gates with his eyes.
He had told to Hades story
of his former life and woe.
"Take this room (and do not worry)
Six, six, six, I have to go", -
said the Fiend, - "good night, my yellow
brother. I must keep the fire of hell.
Take this place, my dear fellow,
I'll back later. So, be well."
VI.
But among the fiends and fire
Angel's rest was not so long,
Smiling hell with wicked prayer
stood and ugly laughed, and song
of their hundreds hooves in horseshoes
scraped the bones with metal sound,
How to sleep? How lose the conscience?
There was only blame around.
Table, iron bed and talking
by his back, and living dust
covered curtains, evil mocking
left no choice, and the outcast
wanted to behold his feather
almost losing their skin.
He was patient - not some teaser,
It was not enough, and spleen
pointed in his icon, really,
with their dirty fingers, yeah,
Beat or not to beat, how silly,
They didn't stop, it wasn't fair.
It is like a seal was broken
And there was a voice of hell:
"Apocalypse! I'm awoken,
Back your rooms and do not tell!"
All the breed had caught the silence,
But they whispered any way,
Curtain fell with moral violence,
Yellow angel flew away
through the window. He was throwing
golden feathers from the Hight,
Fiends rejected "brother" knowing
Yellow angel, you're not right.
VII.
Now he's guest in world of mortal,
Autumn reigned in their mind,
Bunches of rowan hanged like portal
for the blood of trees in night.
Lazy lifeless rain was falling
Grumbling like an old-old man,
Angel hid his wings with dawning,
He got lost in crowd. Oh, damn,
No one cared that he was yellow:
you and we, and those, and these,
Angel walked so free and mellow
not looking around in peace.
He was not begetting malice,
And he thought "why do I run"
He wasn't calling to repentance
or to sin. There was the sun.
Glitter of grey puddles-mirrors
wasn't showing yellow view,
Wind was singing in his ears,
fondling curls and eyelashes too.
VIII.
All has changed somehow and sharply
among ditches these are overgrown,
The sun came out boldly, heartly,
seeing angel, now he's known.
Star was smiling to its fellow,
then it smiled once for us,
Star dawned on the wings these are yellow
in that hour on that grass.
And there is no awful weather,
People smile, and people shout:
'Gift us feather", - they're together
hungering happiness throughout.
Their hands stretch and they are greedy,
Secret's open, and they mock
over feathered, there's no pity,
No salvation, but there's shock.
Angel's torn not knowing really
how to hide and how to leave,
He is shamed of awkward feeling,
The Lord's way's unknown, believe,
to us all, the angel's breathing
barely, he's exhausted. And
God beheld that men are teasing,
God gave sign, the angel's sent
on the planet without creatures,
Let it be. He chose his path.
There's no life, there are no features,
it is smaller than some else.
It is dwarf, it can't be taller,
And, of course, it's really cold,
But who cares that angel's colour
is containing precious gold.
IX.
Earth was left, there were no chances
to find his so secret roads,
He is fine there, there's no fences,
He's alone with his great thoughts.
But sighing wearily he's impassive,
only feathers - maple leaves
fall from the sky that is massive,
And there's nothing more beneath.
The end
Copyright © Serge Lyrewing | Year Posted 2018
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Details |
Serge Lyrewing Poem
You don't love me, you don't have compassion,
Maybe I am handsome not enough,
You don't look in face with wild passion
putting arms on shoulders without love.
I'm not rude or gentle with you, dear,
You're so young and you've got sensual grin,
Tell, how many kissers you had here?
How many hands and lips have known your sin?
Yes, I know their shades passed-by your being
And they didn't touch your wanted blaze,
You set down on their knees, I'm meaning,
Now you're on my knees, we're face to face.
Let your eyes are almost closed, and maybe
Now you think about somebody else,
Ah, I love you not so much, oh, baby,
Drowning in my former and sweet tales.
Do not call the Fate our tiresome fever,
Our passion frivolous and fast,
I have met you accidentally, dreamer,
I will smile in parting, all is dust.
Yes, you'll go your own way, and wasting
fire through the mournful days of fall,
Do not touch the innocent, you're tasty,
Do not call unburned, oh, do not call.
And when on the lane with someone other
you will go with talking about love,
Maybe I will walk myself and rather
I will meet you and it won't be rough.
You will turn your shoulders to him quietly,
Oh, and with a little bending down,
You will say good evening very lightly,
I will say good night, miss, with a bow.
Rest of soul won't be disturbed whenever,
Nothing takes us with the violent pain,
Who had love just cannot love forever,
Who had burnt just cannot burn again.
1925
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Sergey Yesenin
Copyright © Serge Lyrewing | Year Posted 2018
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Details |
Serge Lyrewing Poem
There're frost and sun, the day is fairy,
You're sleeping yet, sweetheart, you're merry,
It's time, wake up, my pretty lass,
Open your eyes that are so tender
towards Aurora and her splendour
Rise like the Northern star to bless.
The eve, remember, evil blizzard,
Sky's full of mist, sky was imprisoned,
the moon was just like yellow stain,
It shone through clouds that were so gloomy,
You were so sad, your room is roomy,
But now, look in the window, hey...
Under the blue-blue skies of glory,
under the sun without some hurry
the snow that like great carpet lies,
Transparent forest blackened truly,
The hoarfrost covers spruces coolly
And river's shining through the ice.
I see the room is full of amber,
Room's bright and stove sings with great temper
of burning firewood.
It's good to think near bed, but maybe
order to harness horse, my lady,
to slide, it would be good.
We're sliding on the snow of morning,
My sweetheart, let horse runs to dawning,
There is no time to wait.
Let's visit empty field, let's visit
thick forests, oh, I really miss it,
And shore that's sweet for our date.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Alexander Pushkin
Copyright © Serge Lyrewing | Year Posted 2018
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