***
You were too lazy to get dressed,
Too lazy to rise from the armchair.
- Although Your next day could be blessed
With my pure gaiety and laughter.
You were embarrassed most of all
To walk at night amid the snowfall.
- Although Your hours could be bold
With my excitement - jolly, youthful.
My darling, You have meant no harm,
So irreversibly benign.
- You were all innocence and charm,
I was the youth that passed You by.
October 25, 1914
***
I’ve spent all day beside the window,
The snow was melting everywhere.
My mind was sober, bosom - tender,
Again I live without care.
I don’t know why. It must be languor,
The mere exhaustion of the soul,
I simply couldn’t bear to handle
My pencil - riotous and bold.
And so I stood - the foggy valance -
Concealed both evil and caress,
My finger gently broke the silence
By tapping on the fragile glass.
My spirit’s neither worse, nor better
Than any stranger - whom I’ve met, -
Than puddles of pearlescent glitter,
The mirrored sky above my head,
Than bird in flight, so free and dauntless,
Than racing dog with fluffy ears,
And even the impoverished songstress
No longer can bring me to tears.
The charming art of sweet oblivion
I’ve memorized from the start.
Today a feeling worth a million
Was slowly melting in my heart.
October 24, 1914
***
Under the plush plaid's tender softness
I lie, remembering last night.
Was it a dream? - Who broke the fortress? -
Who lost the fight?
Again comes bitter rumination,
And suffering hits me anew.
Words can't define this revelation -
Do I love you?
Who was the hunter? - Who - the victim?
The devil has reversed it all!
What purring, wise Siberian kitten
May now recall?
In that self-willed and fervent duel,
Who held the shield, and who - the sword?
Whose heartbeat - Yours or mine - was cruel,
And raced, and soared?
What - after all - was our story?
What do I long for and regret?
Still wondering: was this my glory?
Or my death-bed?
October 23, 1914
***
Aren’t you happy? No! You would hardly tell me!
So - let it be!
You’ve kissed too many, and you’ve loved too many,
In misery.
All of the tragic heroines of Shakespeare
I see in You,
Although nobody saved my lady - young, drear -
Out of the blue!
You are exhausted by repeating blindly
The words of love!
The ring, cast-iron, on your hand - frail, whitely, -
Reveals enough!
I love You. - Deadly sins, like clouds of thunder, -
Above you rest -
For all of Your causticity and candour,
You are the best,
For all the differences left between us -
In shades of gloom,
For Your seductiveness, inspired by Venus,
And stormy doom.
To You, my highbrow, otherworldly demon,
I’ll say goodbye,
For You, the most remarkable of women, -
Will surely die!
For all this sudden trembling - and confusion -
Is this a dream? -
For the ironic, wonderful conclusion -
That you’re not “him.”
October 16, 1914
You will not see these tender verses,
The message from my fragile hand.
We’re farther than the universes,
Though closer than the grains of sand.
Your trace
is vanishing
away:
The words,
The moments,
Nights and days.
You. Are. Not. Here. Anymore.
Towards infinity you soar,
And to the stars say “I adore…”
Not me,
Not me,
Not me,
Not me –
You have no place on Earth to be!
And when the world comes to an end,
Through time and space I’ll hold your hand.
Oh, but you won’t remember me!
In dreams, if dreams there ever be,
You will unknowingly repeat
That in a thousand years…
We’ll meet.
A silly overwhelming lie!
How dare you keep me up at night?
Oh, how can I this voice forget?
I wish I could, without regret,
Leave all the memories behind…
“Be gone! Come back to me!” – I cried.
“Forever, I will be with you!” –
Alas, these words cannot be true.
You’ve told me, holding back the tears:
“We will meet…
In a thousand years.”
I will be here! I will abide –
Your answer in my heart will hide.
Let recollections disappear,
For neither time nor death I fear.
And when the somber glow is near,
Your answer I’ll repeat, my dear:
“We will meet…
In a thousand years.”
The loneliest of hours are the best,
The sweetest moments of my tangled life,
When only those are by the Heaven blessed,
Who never love and never ever fight.
The silence of the night was calming like
The soothing breeze or humming of the flame
But thunderstorm with its desire to strike,
A mighty demon, to the ground came.
I didn’t fear it, nor did I stand still;
As burning poison flowed across my spine,
And then I ran, and ran against my will,
And even lost the precious count of time.
I drifted in the darkness with a smile,
Not that of madness, but of sad delight,
As if my friends returned for a while
To disappear for their final fight.
No pain, no tears, no pity for myself.
I felt the whispering of crystallized sparks,
And flew from them as if I were an elf,
Which was invisible but left flamboyant marks.
Why do night spirits dwell there, in my soul,
Where nothing lives, and feelings make no sound?
Sometimes they rise, at other times they fall,
And howl with pain, when no one is around.
“We hate you, garish, overwhelming sun!
You shine with powerful and blinding grace
Of perfect creature, which to Earth has come
From silent land, entitled now as “space.”
You cannot save a secret from one’s eyes,
You have no charm, no beauty of your own,
You hide inside a miserable vice,
You keep it deep within the scarlet glow!”
The voices of night spirits in my head
Have murmured so with fiery delight
Of beasts, by hatred poisoned and led
Into the meaningless, atrocious fight.
Adoring their passion, like my own,
I felt, indeed – there is no solid truth;
The moon and stars will soon be fully gone,
Then night itself shall have no real use.
Oh, rose-red sunrise, take my somber soul!
Erase it swiftly with your golden wings,
Before the Sacred Light I shall not bow,
For now I fear the tragic thoughts it brings.
My heart, concealed by the mist of tears,
Can’t help, but miss the tender love of night,
Which does not hurt unfeigned fragile feels,
But fondles them with care and holds them tight.
Believe, each day is full of mysteries,
And even when the sky seems blue and bright,
The shadows cast by giant maple trees
Evoke the visions of the cryptic night.
One doesn’t notice pearls of morning dew,
Pierced ruthlessly by subtle verdant blades;
And nature’s beauty may give us a clue
To when the brilliance of this moment fades.
The roses murmur secrets in the dark,
While nightingales sing them serenades,
And whispering of ghosts until the lark
Upon the gloomy, dreaming world cascades.
The night and day, the stars, and leaves of grass
All have their magic, which one can’t describe,
And even though wildflowers seldom last,
As long as beauty lives, they’ll here abide.
Amidst the variegated crowd,
The laughter, and champagne,
She felt a soft subconscious doubt –
The era now has changed!
What was forgotten long ago,
Lived on before her eyes;
Jazz bands and flappers here – galore,
A golden paradise.
The London mist felt just as cold,
The moon was just as bright,
But skies seemed to light up with gold,
And tender was the night.
Short hair, silk dress, and long cigar
Now has our heroine;
What she admired from afar,
Observing from within.
All seems surreal – a fairy tale,
A dream within a dream.
“Am I confused? Am I insane?
What does this chaos mean?”
No answer yet: mere whisperings,
The laughter, and champagne,
For only stars do know these things,
And they cannot be named.
Dear Reader,
This website is not only a portfolio of an aspiring poetess but also a clandestine sanctuary for the literary minds.
I hope that my passion for poetry and photography will resonate with your soul. Currently, I am also working on a new section: film and literary criticism.
Thank you for joining me on a journey through the multitudinous seas of literature!
The Waves of Poetry 