Читать книгу СТИХИ Избранные. POEMS Selected - Иосиф Айзикович Латман - Страница 10

Month March is freezing at crossroad

the streets of Summer and Winter,

Where storm is dropping many sparkles

on to hills,

if the wind is

a petal from the winds rose.

I was born at night in wild March, not in still,

But under of the blizzard’s drunken whistle.

When over Moon on watch an imp hovered,

hiding, with shadow covered.

And since then a cloud of snow dust,

blurring my eyes,

lead away into the past,

Showing miracles. At times they very nice:

It can turn into a drop,

Or in a storm or in a strong frost,

And, sometimes suddenly… imp smiles,

But somehow aloof. I don’t know why…

04.09.2020- 28.06.2021