Читать книгу Time and love. The novel in verse - George Pospelow - Страница 17

A place near Darjeeling9 —

one mile from the bottom.

No high for the Himalayas.

The mountains in front —

five miles. Quite something!

Nothing higher exists.

At night, we came here

to be the first in India

to greet the dawn

if no one was at Everest,

of course.

We wait for the “illumination”

in complete darkness.

At last, the head of Chomolungma

turns pink, afterward

the whole of the range

is an illustration to Roerich10,

though it’s hard to believe —

quite the contrary.

The light reaches us

and rather penetrates.

There’s somebody

before the precipice

on the very brink —

we stare wide-eyed

at the figure of a yogi

in “The Sun Salutation” posture.

The prime man of the nation.

We came up and found

plenty to talk about with him.

He’s tall; his sharpened body

covers the earthly dust.

It took him six months

to reach this place.

In the eyes is no vanity

of the world whatever —

a peaceful calm of the sunrise

penetrates through us, shocked,

fascinated by the spiritual face,

creation of Nature and thought,

the closest relation to the Universe.

A strong voice of an actor

soothsays long and happily

we would live in love.

Well, thanks for the prophecy.

Penetrated twofold with the light,

we are not offended

by the ranking – illuminated

second in the country.