Spring by N. Y. VAPTSAROV translated by Ann WoodSPRING
My spring, my white spring,
still uninhabited, ungrateful,
only in dream dreams dreaming,
how you pass low over the poplars,
but you're not stopping your flight here.
Spring my, my white spring -
I know you will come with rain and hurricanes,
wild, scary, flaming
to regain thousands of hopes
and wash the bloody wounds.
How the birds will sing in the corn!
Happy will swim in the open air ...
People will enjoy their work
and they will love themselves as brothers.
My spring, my white spring ...
Let me see your first flight,
gave life to the dead squares,
let me only see your sun
and - die of your barricades!
Poetry by antoniya katelieva-wood
Read 243 times
Written on 2019-03-28 at 09:42
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