Читать книгу Time and love. The novel in verse - George Pospelow - Страница 27

At this part of the planet,

the night sent her stars out,

turned Kashmir

out of a painting

into a pencil drawing.

Two giantess mountains

wrinkled their faces

in displeasure:

in a hefty cloud-hammock

they swung the Moon —

a fidgety little old woman

who always poked her nose

into the affairs

of the rocky kingdom below.

A breeze

with jasmine fragrance

drove illusive shadows

together,

and the silence

who fell into the night’s arms

began to jingle.

Envious of the silence,

my lover

asked me to hug her stronger.

The tranquil

not bustling night

filled mountains with coolness —

you could drink it like nectar.

In the gaze of the loving eyes

and everywhere,

reigned the infinity —

a serious personage —

who suggested

unraveling a problem

of the meaning of life.

Next time.

For the moment,

we were tired of deciphering

a formula

offered by the fairy

of happiness-to-be-together.

It took a countless quantity

of kisses

to do that.

Variability. All the time.

After deciphering,

we were startled

at the appearance

of the flower girls

carrying baskets on their heads.

Chattering, not serious,

despite

the infinity and tiredness,

the girls

gave us garlands

and,

as a parting compliment,

blew a calm melody

out of sacred shells

that didn’t disturb

the repose around.

A silvery river continued

her untroubled sleep,

a sleeping forest got quiet

after having had smoked

a dream-herb

to his heart’s content.

At last, the birds had

a good night’s rest,

and only a dream interpreter

eagle owl

somewhat mumbled,

but that

didn’t bother anybody.

The gratifying feeling

of sweet drowsiness and sleeplessness,

light-and-shade,

fragrance of jasmine

tied with a string,

beauty and gracefulness

of the flower girls,

unusual tunes

made us tipsier.

It seemed as if the fairies

of happiness-to-be-together,

engaged in a velocity competition

with fireflies,

assumed the human

shape and well rewarded us

for deciphering their formula

that appeared to be

so simple —

a mutual feeling.

We,

characters in the night play,

were not sure

how long it did last.

We lost the count of time.