Scent of the day
The sun and the moon, at random met in a race,
But never walked together on the forgotten grass
Of their recollections tuning incredible bass;
Drums asleep rested in a secret chamber of grace.
Fade, the flowers crushed under the horses’ hoof
Called the white dawn with the scent of church,
While the sick forest shared hope with the birch
Like a monk in pensive mood, standing sadly, aloof.
Sun arises, pushing a shinning golden fork
At the other side of the soul and the throne
Ready to touch and wound the flying stork
At the first date with the white cloud-heron.
And the silent grew green like the firs on the crest;
And the sun was running on the moon all the day,
And the hope was running like a butterfly without rest;
It looks for the flower with secret scent of the day.
You are my dancing verse, from early frozen dawns;
But clouds still rested, like broken glass of sky,
When playful youth, a snowball threw and hit a ray;
But clouds still rested above the inner dreaming lawns.
At first I thought, the world is made of frozen honey;
But clouds still rested, like windows of the people’ soul;
By river-time, as I stayed and saw the stopped sky`s condole
But clouds still rested, so I chose from them, the pony.
A farther world in which I live, I guard my glass menagerie:
And dreams still rested, like tamed animals in your hands,
When words I chose, they were like penguins of farther lands;
And dreams still rested, like ready to adorn the season` tree.
You dancing skate and keep my hand, beyond the mirror white;
And love still rested: the golden ray is playing in thy lock.
We form a joyful stanza, in which we dance around the clock;
And love still rested, and feeds us all with tender light.
This wind is not alone because it stays on the height,
And waits for golden dawns that follow after night;
It crossed many tempests, islands and an ocean dark,
It met the fairies and hobbits and the joyous lark.
While flattening blond fields, it thought a paradox
How Little Prince was taught on Friendship by a Fox:
While playing with the grass, and with the yellow maze,
While caressing the flowers’ feet, it heard a poet`s case…
This poet is like the hottest wind that lives on height:
Suddenly, his “light poetry” is seen as “poetry of light”.
Lonely lunatic, look for the golden giraffe, and try to ride it soon!
Raise clouds of dust in which the strange long neck horse
Swims and dreams the waves attracted by the moldy moon:
In mirror time, from dream descending both, of course;
You can see the green hair of the sky and the rainbow rhomb;
But, who is ready to pick the rusty thoughts of old memory?
Among the clouds we try to row above our tomb;
Following our recollections, we carve in expensive ivory.
The river of time sent us its waves of this incense emerald hour
In which we call back the summer’s amber of the fruitful word;
So, this can be seen through windows of our age tower
And again we cross through the trees and the black sword:
People of air turned to the blessed breeze of brotherhood,
Reading Thora, Bible and Koran and walking in the wood
Oh, sublime name, how lovely you sound
In my mind, with perfume of old garden,
With pleased companions walking around:
Like a young girl's heart had learnt to harden.
Much courted lady at her time, Miss Duty…
She had affinities and ambitions to philosophy
She seemed the intangible dream of real beauty:
She knew every language and gift of prophecy.
Even if with a lot of admirers, she rested alone
To help her old parents, the old destiny joke.
When someone asked me, "I beg your pardon:
I'm not quite clear about what you just spoke...
I explain the command of love: Duty’s burden…
You know, of course, so many interactions
In history of thought: In Kant, unlike Mill,
There were some certain types of actions
As absolutely prohibited, even if free will
Found cases where the action would bring
Much more happiness, than the alternative;
But, those thoughts met in the same string
Of people counted as perhaps, too sensitive.
For Kant, this was a chosen realm duty:
Can I rationally will that everyone act
-As well in Truth, and Way and Beauty-
As I propose myself, indeed to act?
Do my arrows respect the goals of man,
Who sent them from a kind of moral bow?
Respecting life to close it clean, as it began,
Whenever steps part in soft paths, when now
Some used them too often, for selfish target,
To quickly reach at the old golden bough.
Thus, could you agree to walk on a red carpet:
Never thinking on the consequences of your actions
But only on whether you fulfill the real duty,
Living for today and not tomorrow s satisfaction
So, Kant taught the lastingness of human beauty.
As Imperative on what our moral duties were.
Do you wish you were the light of that little star?
What would you answer? Maybe, that you do not care.
So, rest with all thy ardors, in glass sphere which are.
It`s peace in the forest, this night…
All stars gathered in the same breath;
The frost`s wolf chatters his white teeth;
Mourning old trees are all covered by light;
The wind increased his obsessive white;
Neighbors: the snowmen and a glass stag
When night is finally waving its white flag,
Dreams are hanged by luminous white of the height.
Winter buried its face in frozen white lands,
Long Snow drifts grew like glass clouds above
And covered the village and half of the church;
Sun seems a squeezed lemon by white hands.
Milk dawns, glass blower speaks slowly of love;
White field sounds with crows near one silver birch.
With closed eyes,because this burning light,
The clouds will go beyond the golden day,
And sun will rest in your hair, a playful ray,
But blue will stretch a hand to inner sight;
Some dreams are riding yet, the friendly pony.
Neighbors: the fairy`s breasts in joyous rest;
With closed eyes, the morning wind will test
And run a bee along no time wet honey;
Old summer buried its face in gentle light and sand;
Some dreams grew like shinning clouds above
By covering the castles,then a part of our beach;
No wind to run them , except a tender hand.
The taste of salt and sea are slowly speaking love;
While changeable waves, to blond laughs reach...
Unforgettable sweet horizon like the sleeping woman's hips...
Tortuous destiny whose yellow sadness tips
With centuries of sacred silence ;
After I pass the sacred glass beads through
Since the pink dawn and the sweet dew;
After I live "Philokalia", blessing the Lord's name
With one thousand sad prayers,
With faith that can move the mountains,
With complete devotion and obedience,
Silent like a statue of long endurance,
Could I remember her again?
From eternity, for ever had been
Above the waters without border,
The light of that very beginning in no world
And no time, but this cloud and the first Word
Who changed the trembling no time's order,
So that the paradise still mirrors in her eyes green…
Beard like our bishop, you'll wear:
Lost you'll be for this world, my friend…
But your secret mad hope still moves like a lizard
In front of the rocks with human face.
With "Philokalia", your dreams will ascend...
Maybe, from heaven will drop a tear:
With bitter taste of grass and leaves of any honey September;
And the dawn with scent of woman will rest in no time's amber.
Days buried in the snow to save
Recollections touching the grave
Moved by wind in desert of ice,
Moved far from the sea of thy eyes
In the forgot countries of glass;
With wasteful waves they quickly pass.
Stars gather them in their cold lights,
Dropping from sky, they burn our sights.
Longitude of longing new heights
Looms wave shinning hopes in checked nights
Windows with ice-flowers covered,
Know how their old perfumes were robbed
By young snowmen knocking at door
And asking at what colored floor
Is the blond spring`s good fairy hid?
Wind blows from the other side
Of horizon humming a lied;
Sleepy snowdrops started to read
About dreams riding white horses,
Climb up the mountain of Moses!
How beautifully, the seagulls fly
Above the waves, up into the sky!
Over the troubled ocean’s horizon.
Over the wonders having a reason.
In front of that playful inner smile
Surely,we can wait a little while
Mirroring in startling emerald eyes,
When each time offers a kiss-surprise.
How carefully, the tender breeze
Embraces the obstinate young trees!
Caresses the red poppies`feet,
In the blond field, where we meet.